Stripping Yourself Down To The Lavishly Ornamental
February 19th 2010 07:24
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Category: No Category
You cannot separate substance from style - rhetoric is practical.
Theory is practice - to think is an act. Practice is theory - to act is a thought.
Pragmaticism is an abstract concept. The tangible is a matter of perception.
My resilient search for the transient, my combative quest for peace. My Western love for the Orient, my cheery sense of unease.
I contemplate upon cacophonies that I myself created... I plot to resolve conflict that I consummated.
In the absence of a willing I, you are the reason for my distraction. I have found new ways to save my soul so I don't have to play-act loving your equation. The room for expansion is not a lot, but still I get in touch with my inner polyglot. You radiate fatigue at me, but I'm not receptive to those vibes. Apparently baiting me into servility, I acquire the tools to take me higher. It's my rules which you have to swim against now, I have excavated my precious best now. I know I've wrested from you the illusion of control, but don't you see how it fortifies your soul?
Fighting for my right to dream. You're eluding the necessity to scream.
I won't be lulled into a stasis by your unrelenting doubts.
You're an unconvincing synergy of neurotic bouts.
All I can do is smile. I'll be extracting myself in just a while.
A flashier streak of dull determination reveals to me my need to question
Just what has come before, and why I keep it coming
Who have I become, or who am I becoming?
Theory is practice - to think is an act. Practice is theory - to act is a thought.
Pragmaticism is an abstract concept. The tangible is a matter of perception.
My resilient search for the transient, my combative quest for peace. My Western love for the Orient, my cheery sense of unease.
I contemplate upon cacophonies that I myself created... I plot to resolve conflict that I consummated.
In the absence of a willing I, you are the reason for my distraction. I have found new ways to save my soul so I don't have to play-act loving your equation. The room for expansion is not a lot, but still I get in touch with my inner polyglot. You radiate fatigue at me, but I'm not receptive to those vibes. Apparently baiting me into servility, I acquire the tools to take me higher. It's my rules which you have to swim against now, I have excavated my precious best now. I know I've wrested from you the illusion of control, but don't you see how it fortifies your soul?
Fighting for my right to dream. You're eluding the necessity to scream.
I won't be lulled into a stasis by your unrelenting doubts.
You're an unconvincing synergy of neurotic bouts.
All I can do is smile. I'll be extracting myself in just a while.
A flashier streak of dull determination reveals to me my need to question
Just what has come before, and why I keep it coming
Who have I become, or who am I becoming?
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