Shaking Paper - Cat Power
Hey it's July! This space has not been idle. Many words have floated in and out of this screen, I just
forgot to press 'record'. Sometimes deliberately.
It's been one of those semesters that seems to disappear into dust before you can turn around and identify tracks of life in the dirt. Not to say this semester has been void of the interesting; on the contrary, there were many things which kept life alive many of which I could delve into but shall refrain from doing so; my audience at large should be aware anyways... Life is more musical, in every sense of the word :D I conformed and put a smiley. But to escape from digression, on Thursday is a trip over to Yogyakarta, back home the following week rounded up with the grind of the mill the week after. Halfway through my degree, one and a half years from a lifetime away. This isn't a descent into nostalgia, I do that often enough. It's merely a statement of fact. Heh.
I sit here at my computer, putting together jumbled up thoughts and vague ideas to draw a heavy conclusion: I'm missing most of my music. Another long yet satisfying day of recording at home with the band (minus Jerry) but the sounds have receded into my laptop; songs mixed to perfection sound alien in my ears juxtaposed against our raw sound. My timing needs perfecting, my drum kit needs upgrading. I've always lacked the resources, as I do now, but it has never been a real stumbling block. I speak from multiple angles, telling parallel stories about no matter how much I may sketch an existential bohemian dramatis persona, it becomes increasingly evident that existence in inertia is useless regardless of the self-indulgence of an individual within the universe. It's something i've known for awhile but have always been reluctant to accept. It's much dandier to attribute the creation and control of happiness to oneself, and I'd be damned to admit that it was reliant on others, but obviously that is and always has been the case. That my bohemian joyful goodness is inhibited by those individuals closest and nearest to me and although it doesn't fully negate my own mind it does diversify emotions as a whole.
But I'm okay with that really, it's never been a problem to save the world together with your best mates. I'm just suffering from a little withdrawal syndrome.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Unwinding.
There is no coherency, no time, space or matter. No stability or sense, no tangible elements float and mingle with no thought or regard for the other. Just a mass of void, an area of nothing, a block of stupid, which in itself is a oxymoron. Dull colours cover the eyes, cloud the sky and draw a scene, monochrome and insipid. But are we pretending or have we always been cloaked, been deluded, been lured? Was this over before it ever began, is it easier to lead with eyes closed, drawing on the imagination with arms wide open?
Telling lines spoken into the air before fading into oblivion, whose architects are we who seem to trip on the cords that draw the lines of failure. Where is the gravity that pulls us down, where are the ropes that bind us to the earth? Where are the seconds that countdown our remaining time, where is the space within which we call home? We sing this song, play this melody and fill the night with songs whose feelings and emotions become increasingly difficult to discern and decode. A ball that is thrown into the air, expecting a different result each time by overlooking its impossibility. A fire started that continues to rage, for putting it out would require too much effort.
Darkness of the moment like the tunes in my ears, the shadow that envelops my room, the bleakness of the future, and the uncertainty of an eternity, eclipses pulsations of those closest kilometers away. The time brings a warning, a reminder that life continues to revolve with our without us. Time unfurls like a standard blowing in a sea of carnage, immutable in the ground.
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever", but what is forever?
"Man is condemned to be free; for once thrown out into the world he is responsible for everything he does."
Telling lines spoken into the air before fading into oblivion, whose architects are we who seem to trip on the cords that draw the lines of failure. Where is the gravity that pulls us down, where are the ropes that bind us to the earth? Where are the seconds that countdown our remaining time, where is the space within which we call home? We sing this song, play this melody and fill the night with songs whose feelings and emotions become increasingly difficult to discern and decode. A ball that is thrown into the air, expecting a different result each time by overlooking its impossibility. A fire started that continues to rage, for putting it out would require too much effort.
Darkness of the moment like the tunes in my ears, the shadow that envelops my room, the bleakness of the future, and the uncertainty of an eternity, eclipses pulsations of those closest kilometers away. The time brings a warning, a reminder that life continues to revolve with our without us. Time unfurls like a standard blowing in a sea of carnage, immutable in the ground.
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever", but what is forever?
"Man is condemned to be free; for once thrown out into the world he is responsible for everything he does."
Monday, April 27, 2009
Monash Music Festival; Pulsate.
It's already been a few days, an excess of 48 hours, much of which lack sleep and cohesion; hours fueled on caffeine, nicotine, kilos of nasi lemak and much love from all quarters.
The days blend into hours, the hours blur into minutes as each second becomes less distinct from the last, yet each stand individually and upright alongside its' companions, keeping the beat pulsating and the flow of time moving.
We expand, grow and and diffuse far past the first 9 corporeal beings that pre-existed before last epic Saturday, into a family far-reaching and warm. One that grew from a single digit number to all those who slaved without complaint or those who screamed and sang along to the lyrics thrown out into the night sky.
From the infant beginnings of the organisation of the Monash Music Festival up til the climax of headbanging joyness have we poured much love, time and energy into the fruition of our efforts, to be able to look around the Monash carpark, note the steel barricades and think to oneself, "me and my friends put that shit up". We trudged for hours and hours together, sweating in tandem as we lifted, heaved, ran and worried as one collective and cohesive unit. Joking and laughing, cursing and swearing, whether high on adrenaline or burned out by the sun, we bonded together as a band of brothers and sisters striving for a collective cause.
And then there were the tunes, my melodic brothers with whom we spent many hours perfecting our beats, smoothing our riffs and projecting our music to volumes previously unreached and unseen by any of us, beyond the watts of amplifiers and the kick of the bass pedal into the ethereal nature of the crowd and their energy. Walking onto stage to the cheer of the crowd, jumping into our set and being received as a band by such awesomeness is nothing short of electrifying.
The collective energy i've spent over these last few days in particular has finally taken it's toll on me, as I cringe at the bout of sniffles that threatens to decimate a tiny African village at the sight of dust, nurse a headache that cleaves the mind and a general lethargy that has permeated the student council, but such an experience is not worth endless cartons of free cigarettes, as everything can be measured against cigarettes. The emotional care and support that everyone has dissipated freely and generously reminds me that although the world is a cruel and dark place, we can always rock the fuck out with our friends so long as we surrender our feet to the mosh pit.
A big shout out to my greatest mates: The Activities Committee of KT, Joanna, Namie, Sarah, Philip, Azrul, The Titan and Ju/Jew. The Subs of Usman, Malati, Ashwin, Mahal, Dom and Danni, Fendi and the other Ashwin, the entire damn security team included cuz i can't list the entire team here, all the other sub-committees, my mates Hani, Mutiara, Jegs and Azim for coming out to watch us play, and lastly but-in-incredibly-cliched-fashion not the least in any way, the entire band of Crossing Boundaries including the team of girlfriends, Jerry, Shaneil, Tristan, Hasi, Denise and my baby, Nicole.
I love you guys.
Committee needs a proper photo!
The days blend into hours, the hours blur into minutes as each second becomes less distinct from the last, yet each stand individually and upright alongside its' companions, keeping the beat pulsating and the flow of time moving.
We expand, grow and and diffuse far past the first 9 corporeal beings that pre-existed before last epic Saturday, into a family far-reaching and warm. One that grew from a single digit number to all those who slaved without complaint or those who screamed and sang along to the lyrics thrown out into the night sky.
From the infant beginnings of the organisation of the Monash Music Festival up til the climax of headbanging joyness have we poured much love, time and energy into the fruition of our efforts, to be able to look around the Monash carpark, note the steel barricades and think to oneself, "me and my friends put that shit up". We trudged for hours and hours together, sweating in tandem as we lifted, heaved, ran and worried as one collective and cohesive unit. Joking and laughing, cursing and swearing, whether high on adrenaline or burned out by the sun, we bonded together as a band of brothers and sisters striving for a collective cause.
And then there were the tunes, my melodic brothers with whom we spent many hours perfecting our beats, smoothing our riffs and projecting our music to volumes previously unreached and unseen by any of us, beyond the watts of amplifiers and the kick of the bass pedal into the ethereal nature of the crowd and their energy. Walking onto stage to the cheer of the crowd, jumping into our set and being received as a band by such awesomeness is nothing short of electrifying.
The collective energy i've spent over these last few days in particular has finally taken it's toll on me, as I cringe at the bout of sniffles that threatens to decimate a tiny African village at the sight of dust, nurse a headache that cleaves the mind and a general lethargy that has permeated the student council, but such an experience is not worth endless cartons of free cigarettes, as everything can be measured against cigarettes. The emotional care and support that everyone has dissipated freely and generously reminds me that although the world is a cruel and dark place, we can always rock the fuck out with our friends so long as we surrender our feet to the mosh pit.
A big shout out to my greatest mates: The Activities Committee of KT, Joanna, Namie, Sarah, Philip, Azrul, The Titan and Ju/Jew. The Subs of Usman, Malati, Ashwin, Mahal, Dom and Danni, Fendi and the other Ashwin, the entire damn security team included cuz i can't list the entire team here, all the other sub-committees, my mates Hani, Mutiara, Jegs and Azim for coming out to watch us play, and lastly but-in-incredibly-cliched-fashion not the least in any way, the entire band of Crossing Boundaries including the team of girlfriends, Jerry, Shaneil, Tristan, Hasi, Denise and my baby, Nicole.
I love you guys.
Committee needs a proper photo!
Saturday, April 18, 2009
One, Two, Three Marlenas
Sometimes there are a thousand things to say, a million things to express, a bucket of tears to cry and a flurry of laughter to throw into the air, but words have and always will fall short. Words are the limits of our expression, framing the mind into as much as a vocabulary can hold. Words make thoughts tangible, but tangible to a limited degree, tangible as to the lines that we draw around ourselves.
We exist as products of our language, that it is language that constructs us and not us who constructs language, that language precedes us, that we all exist within a pre-existing structure where all our actions and thoughts are pre-conceived and pre-meditated? How different is that from the submissive belief that God is all-knowing and all is up to him, therefore it doesn't matter what we do since he is all powerful and already knows what we're going to do and we're eventually gonna get fucked over by something outside our control? Lacan must've never heard of free will, sitting in his room nursing his black, black heart.
I say a massive "fuck that"; nobody messes up on my behalf.
We exist as products of our language, that it is language that constructs us and not us who constructs language, that language precedes us, that we all exist within a pre-existing structure where all our actions and thoughts are pre-conceived and pre-meditated? How different is that from the submissive belief that God is all-knowing and all is up to him, therefore it doesn't matter what we do since he is all powerful and already knows what we're going to do and we're eventually gonna get fucked over by something outside our control? Lacan must've never heard of free will, sitting in his room nursing his black, black heart.
I say a massive "fuck that"; nobody messes up on my behalf.
Friday, April 03, 2009
The Cure for Fridays
Four weeks has it been? Or five, since I've typed out my thoughts in this virtual space. I do enjoy the rarity of writing but the sporadic nature of my posting habits isn't really all that cool...
Neither is the weather.
A scorching inferno humidityfest that blows like a autistic zephyr, the prize sweats out from the pores, permeating across every corner of the cancer ward and drenching its victims in a pool of bad metaphors.
I probably should get started on that assignment due Monday, or at least attempt to look for the question. I probably should stop eating the kheer (goodness the sin!) and have a granola or something. I probably should rid my self of my "-ine" addictions, put on my shoes and go save some whales. But hey presto, blog precedence.
Blog precedence = life precedence = life fail
The best rambles are metaphors, so in the words of Tristan here comes a "fuckin' tsunami".
Ramble in shambles. Loosen your shackled feet and drag them to the furthest corner of the hottest campus in the world only to accentuate the heat, whether it be from the sticks we cradle, the moisture of laughter or the sweat on clenched palms. The perspiration hits the floor and mingles with the ash forming a pool of blithe only to be trampled by our lingering shoes.
The grim coolness exudes from a select few, whose lives bathe in similar oil that ignites in the hands of the Chair on a whim or spur; melt and mold into the concrete beneath our feet.
Run.
The chill emanates from dulled rooms, where the most penile of people stand at attention while the pedantics nestle loudly in their foreign sections, blaring at every opportunity. The Accented Shrill sets into normalcy, as those with greater senses of sanity roll eyes in opposing directions at such expressed stupidity.
But not all them birds are dimwitted.
Escape and respite. Laconic or expressive with the penchant of colour and curls splashed on screen like summer undergoing indigestion, we traverse and transcend the monochrome that envelopes ordinaries and subordinates, far away into a place we vaguely remember entangled with the sensation of freshness and virginity as lovers on a steel sofa. Intertwined and immersed in thoughts and memories that construct themselves on the fly, goofy smiles creep across faces like sunlight on skin as sweet nothings fill the air; redolent and perpetual. Day breaks and die as we sit and witness the world on revolution, barely noticing anything other than the twirl of her hair, her iris gleam and my own selfish giddiness.
But we are spatial beings and thus the weekend is here to give reason to all that we miss.
Neither is the weather.
A scorching inferno humidityfest that blows like a autistic zephyr, the prize sweats out from the pores, permeating across every corner of the cancer ward and drenching its victims in a pool of bad metaphors.
I probably should get started on that assignment due Monday, or at least attempt to look for the question. I probably should stop eating the kheer (goodness the sin!) and have a granola or something. I probably should rid my self of my "-ine" addictions, put on my shoes and go save some whales. But hey presto, blog precedence.
Blog precedence = life precedence = life fail
The best rambles are metaphors, so in the words of Tristan here comes a "fuckin' tsunami".
Ramble in shambles. Loosen your shackled feet and drag them to the furthest corner of the hottest campus in the world only to accentuate the heat, whether it be from the sticks we cradle, the moisture of laughter or the sweat on clenched palms. The perspiration hits the floor and mingles with the ash forming a pool of blithe only to be trampled by our lingering shoes.
The grim coolness exudes from a select few, whose lives bathe in similar oil that ignites in the hands of the Chair on a whim or spur; melt and mold into the concrete beneath our feet.
Run.
The chill emanates from dulled rooms, where the most penile of people stand at attention while the pedantics nestle loudly in their foreign sections, blaring at every opportunity. The Accented Shrill sets into normalcy, as those with greater senses of sanity roll eyes in opposing directions at such expressed stupidity.
But not all them birds are dimwitted.
Escape and respite. Laconic or expressive with the penchant of colour and curls splashed on screen like summer undergoing indigestion, we traverse and transcend the monochrome that envelopes ordinaries and subordinates, far away into a place we vaguely remember entangled with the sensation of freshness and virginity as lovers on a steel sofa. Intertwined and immersed in thoughts and memories that construct themselves on the fly, goofy smiles creep across faces like sunlight on skin as sweet nothings fill the air; redolent and perpetual. Day breaks and die as we sit and witness the world on revolution, barely noticing anything other than the twirl of her hair, her iris gleam and my own selfish giddiness.
But we are spatial beings and thus the weekend is here to give reason to all that we miss.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Rue.
Rue, for the beginning has yet to end, as the end has yet to begin. Kaleidoscopic senses perceive the end of a four month tattered sojourn into oblivion. Boy, its gonna feel good to go back to university tomorrow.
There is nothing remotely deep or philosophical about this post, it has no relation to politics or world issues. I just feel like these last four months deserve some kind of flourish before it is cast into the depths of forgotten memory banks.
What's there to say? I don't want to delve into anything overly personal; those of you who read this and know me well enough will be well versed in the mirth I've bathed in this Australian summer. Yet I'm compelled to keep writing, maybe for the sake of writing, or maybe for the love of it. Sometimes it's impossible to tell, as we all come to learn at an eventual stage.
Unpredictable like the weather, varied like the smiles on the faces of people we meet, the conscience clears like a sunny Friday morning, only to descend into the nebulous vulgarity of Saturday. Many things learned and unlearned, friends made and broken only to find ourselves here again, slowing for the approach on Monday, gingerly treading on shards of shattered glass to the beat of a good tune.
I'm mixed about these four months. Granted they've been horrible, granted they've cut like a razor blade but the people I've spent it with and the times we shared, with a little digression into cliched emotion, have been pretty darn swell. Endless hours sitting drinking teh tarik, talking about everything or nothing, enveloped in the still silence of a chess game or raucous as a Playstation 3 (that's right, your eyes do not deceive) stirred to life by Winning Eleven, my hair indicates that I've grown, for better or for worse.
It's not fair that so much had to happen in a ridiculously short span of time, others included, before we've even hit 20. It's not fair that all these feelings had to be spilled on the floor like the panic of an ambulance before we've had a chance to graduate. Either the circles of sadness are closing in around us, or the world is turning into a cruel, dead place, but like a great friend of mine said, "We can be a great success, or a great failure. Either way, its greatness."
And damn straight it is.
So what does all this mean? Where have we walked to, where have these words led us? Hell if I know, if i knew there would be no need for me to write in riddles and I would have slept well many weeks ago. Here's me saying that I've learned from this time out, however I wish we could all go back to the start. But sometimes being the dreamer is myopic, sometimes hope is Life in denial; yet we have never been dulled by such before. Whatever that all may eventually mean, Time, the bastard procrastinator that he is, will speak his peace one day and we'll be around to curse or luck our whoop with joy.
So here's to The Beautiful Side of Somewhere, a great song and a great line. Hopefully, as we perpetually seem to do, something brighter will light up the sky, some new mistake will unearth itself, or something old and faded will be injected with vigour again. Something to make us sing out loud, skip the cracks in the street and smile at the faces that smile back, if not on our own then with those around us. It will take ages, for the road has yet been weathered, but my shoes are strapped on with the blithe of youth on my side.
When all this is over, when all this is dusted and when I remember the beautiful things I've forgotten, I shall buy all you awesome people lunch. I cannot heave my heart into my mouth and express all these feelings, so I'll let someone else do it for me, something I found in someone else's note but which I thought to be extremely apt.
Even after all this time
The sun never says to the earth,
"You owe Me."
Look what happens with
A love like that,
It lights the Whole Sky.
- Hafiz, from The Gift
There is nothing remotely deep or philosophical about this post, it has no relation to politics or world issues. I just feel like these last four months deserve some kind of flourish before it is cast into the depths of forgotten memory banks.
What's there to say? I don't want to delve into anything overly personal; those of you who read this and know me well enough will be well versed in the mirth I've bathed in this Australian summer. Yet I'm compelled to keep writing, maybe for the sake of writing, or maybe for the love of it. Sometimes it's impossible to tell, as we all come to learn at an eventual stage.
Unpredictable like the weather, varied like the smiles on the faces of people we meet, the conscience clears like a sunny Friday morning, only to descend into the nebulous vulgarity of Saturday. Many things learned and unlearned, friends made and broken only to find ourselves here again, slowing for the approach on Monday, gingerly treading on shards of shattered glass to the beat of a good tune.
I'm mixed about these four months. Granted they've been horrible, granted they've cut like a razor blade but the people I've spent it with and the times we shared, with a little digression into cliched emotion, have been pretty darn swell. Endless hours sitting drinking teh tarik, talking about everything or nothing, enveloped in the still silence of a chess game or raucous as a Playstation 3 (that's right, your eyes do not deceive) stirred to life by Winning Eleven, my hair indicates that I've grown, for better or for worse.
It's not fair that so much had to happen in a ridiculously short span of time, others included, before we've even hit 20. It's not fair that all these feelings had to be spilled on the floor like the panic of an ambulance before we've had a chance to graduate. Either the circles of sadness are closing in around us, or the world is turning into a cruel, dead place, but like a great friend of mine said, "We can be a great success, or a great failure. Either way, its greatness."
And damn straight it is.
So what does all this mean? Where have we walked to, where have these words led us? Hell if I know, if i knew there would be no need for me to write in riddles and I would have slept well many weeks ago. Here's me saying that I've learned from this time out, however I wish we could all go back to the start. But sometimes being the dreamer is myopic, sometimes hope is Life in denial; yet we have never been dulled by such before. Whatever that all may eventually mean, Time, the bastard procrastinator that he is, will speak his peace one day and we'll be around to curse or luck our whoop with joy.
So here's to The Beautiful Side of Somewhere, a great song and a great line. Hopefully, as we perpetually seem to do, something brighter will light up the sky, some new mistake will unearth itself, or something old and faded will be injected with vigour again. Something to make us sing out loud, skip the cracks in the street and smile at the faces that smile back, if not on our own then with those around us. It will take ages, for the road has yet been weathered, but my shoes are strapped on with the blithe of youth on my side.
When all this is over, when all this is dusted and when I remember the beautiful things I've forgotten, I shall buy all you awesome people lunch. I cannot heave my heart into my mouth and express all these feelings, so I'll let someone else do it for me, something I found in someone else's note but which I thought to be extremely apt.
Even after all this time
The sun never says to the earth,
"You owe Me."
Look what happens with
A love like that,
It lights the Whole Sky.
- Hafiz, from The Gift
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Awake!
It has been too long a lapse since any words have passed here, too turbulent a period for any of my thoughts to be collected coherently to serve some eclectic purpose or other. Too caught up in the quagmire of my own demise and disillusionment, bereaving my own selfishness and solitude, I like many others barely noticed the world continue to revolve painfully on an axis that bleeds dry.
It revolves for no one, no single physical entity is the focal point of its perpetual revolution; it spins for existence alone.
We are the masters of our existence and emotions, but merely to the extent until which our free-will ceases to operate and influence. In the grander scheme of things insular love, and conversely pain, are about as meaningful as a singular raindrop in the drought of emotion. We all feel as humans do, but only by feeling collectively do we progress ourselves as well as society.
I once quoted Guevara to someone dear to me where he said " when they say a thousand and one times that we're dreamers, that we're romantics, that we are incorrigible idealists, that we think the impossible; then a thousand and one times we must answer that yes, we are." If I had lost my way since then, I have regained my faith.
I am a revolutionary and this is a call to arms.
In the comfort of homes, resting negligently in front of our television and computer screens, we are the audience that fuels the war in Gaza. At the time of writing, 700 Palestinians and 20 Israelis have been killed, while we shake our heads at the state of the world and change the channel. We read in the newspapers about the merciless slaying of innocents as we heave a heavy sigh and flip over to the sports section. We hear about various aid agencies, read emails asking for aid and allow the guilt to wash away thinking that there is definitly someone else willing to commit the energy we've just spent at the locak mamak.
But that has never been the case. We are the soldiers that shoot Palestinian children, we are the bombs that destroy civilian buildings, we are Hosni Mubarak suffocating Gaza out of existence. As we remain complicit, we the audience lives vicariously on the war, becoming the images we see and witness.
The very apathy that drives our inaction is drawn from the same well that steels those soldiers into murder, the same lack of emotion that morphs us into drones of war and entertainment.
AWAKE!
This is a call to become what we were born to be, humans who feel love and pain as real as bomb fragments that pierce the bone, as reactive as phosphorus on skin. This is not anything that requires extraordinary capabilities, merely to be as we were created and become one with humanity. Put aside your political affiliations and religious divisions to come together on a humanitarian platform before the blood that drives the world spills onto our hands. Do not rank amongst those who stood by and watched it happen; be counted alongside people who have found the heart to care about the darkness that sweeps the world.
It is not for us to leave it to someone else, to complain about the affairs of the world, remain hesitant, to pass judgement thousands of kilometers away and go back to the inertia of our privacy. Our time here is limited and all that really counts is with what virtue we live our lives by, how well we spent our years bettering ourselves, the people around us and our planet For once, leave aside your concerns and rise for what good there is left in this world, for only together will there be a revolution.
It revolves for no one, no single physical entity is the focal point of its perpetual revolution; it spins for existence alone.
We are the masters of our existence and emotions, but merely to the extent until which our free-will ceases to operate and influence. In the grander scheme of things insular love, and conversely pain, are about as meaningful as a singular raindrop in the drought of emotion. We all feel as humans do, but only by feeling collectively do we progress ourselves as well as society.
I once quoted Guevara to someone dear to me where he said " when they say a thousand and one times that we're dreamers, that we're romantics, that we are incorrigible idealists, that we think the impossible; then a thousand and one times we must answer that yes, we are." If I had lost my way since then, I have regained my faith.
I am a revolutionary and this is a call to arms.
In the comfort of homes, resting negligently in front of our television and computer screens, we are the audience that fuels the war in Gaza. At the time of writing, 700 Palestinians and 20 Israelis have been killed, while we shake our heads at the state of the world and change the channel. We read in the newspapers about the merciless slaying of innocents as we heave a heavy sigh and flip over to the sports section. We hear about various aid agencies, read emails asking for aid and allow the guilt to wash away thinking that there is definitly someone else willing to commit the energy we've just spent at the locak mamak.
But that has never been the case. We are the soldiers that shoot Palestinian children, we are the bombs that destroy civilian buildings, we are Hosni Mubarak suffocating Gaza out of existence. As we remain complicit, we the audience lives vicariously on the war, becoming the images we see and witness.
The very apathy that drives our inaction is drawn from the same well that steels those soldiers into murder, the same lack of emotion that morphs us into drones of war and entertainment.
AWAKE!
This is a call to become what we were born to be, humans who feel love and pain as real as bomb fragments that pierce the bone, as reactive as phosphorus on skin. This is not anything that requires extraordinary capabilities, merely to be as we were created and become one with humanity. Put aside your political affiliations and religious divisions to come together on a humanitarian platform before the blood that drives the world spills onto our hands. Do not rank amongst those who stood by and watched it happen; be counted alongside people who have found the heart to care about the darkness that sweeps the world.
It is not for us to leave it to someone else, to complain about the affairs of the world, remain hesitant, to pass judgement thousands of kilometers away and go back to the inertia of our privacy. Our time here is limited and all that really counts is with what virtue we live our lives by, how well we spent our years bettering ourselves, the people around us and our planet For once, leave aside your concerns and rise for what good there is left in this world, for only together will there be a revolution.
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