Take me by the hand, and show me something else. Lead me away from the mundane. Let me turn my back on the masses, and be free from their clutches. Don’t talk to me about love. Love is cheap and second hand. It’s a chemical reaction, and we cling to it with blind obedience. Love is a trick, a lie we count like sheep to help us sleep at night. It’s so easy and unfaithful, making a mockery of all who fall under its spell. And sex too. It’s nothing special. We’re just slaves to instinct. Reproduction a lukewarm function. It paints a vulgar picture, of how easy we are to please. Everyone likes to be numb; to throw away the essence of the soul and abide by sedation. So take me by the hand, and lead me far away from modern life. Let me strip myself of false flesh, and bask in the glow of what it means to be free. To believe in something unseen that has no description. There’s no reason to care about appearances. There’s no need to feel down about how lost you are, or what a mess you’ve made of your life. Others will plead with you to become like them, to embrace a design for living. They’ll beg you to worship ordinary, to succumb to the glitter that shines so hideously. It’s a sad life they live, but to them, it’s all there is. What’s preached to them so intensely since birth. To immerse oneself in the correct way, and to be crippled by it. But the correct way is just a charade. It’s a crock of shit. A veil of deceit created to suppress. If only you could let go of useless structures and submerge yourself in the unknown, for there’s a realm of endless possibilities just waiting to be felt. Don’t be disposable, and don’t be chained to a life that’s nothing more than a prison. Search for answers wherever they may take you, even if it means getting lost. And that’s the best bit, getting lost. Leaving it all behind and losing yourself. It could take months; it could take years. Decades even. If it’s worth it, it’ll take as long as it takes. You could lose your mind, and maybe you’ll never be the same again. You could feel sadness balloon inside of you, and the weight of the world dragging you down deeper than you ever dared imagine. But the magic is worth fighting for. Tooth and nail. Heart and soul. The great invisible war. The struggle that no one else can see. There’s no pot of gold at the end of it. No mansion and swimming pool, and no salary to make it all worth while. You’re fighting for a state of mind. You’re fighting for a feeling. Others will call you mad, but they’re the mad ones. You’re not a machine. You’re a conscious mind in a vast universe. You’re a spark in the darkness, a flicker of beauty burning for mere seconds. In the face of such fleeting chances, don’t sacrifice who you are trying to fit into others expectations. Be proud of every fuck up. Deny the outlines, deny the blueprints, and be the mess of wonder you were destined to be.