Author S. K. Nicholas

We are delicate spheres of water and dreams, and our histories are both beautiful and superfluous. In between each blink of my eyes, the days fall like the hairs from my chin, or perhaps bridges that once connected lovers between bubbles of their retrospective dreams. Searching my face in the mirror, I notice my beard has grown. It’s ginger, whereas the hair on my head is much darker. Years come and go, and although they have shaped the man I’ve become, it’s as if they were never even there. None of what I’ve lived through feels possible, and yet it has to be. To think otherwise is sheer lunacy, and although I’m mad, I’ve not yet reached the point where I can’t distinguish between what’s real and what’s not. I’d like to think my intentions were good; that my life has been spent treating people with dignity and respect, yet it doesn’t seem enough. To be a good person seems to hold no meaning- we are judged on wealth and social standing alone. Appearances deceive, and yet they are king. This generation hails masturbation- it loves itself without any interest for what remains unseen. Everything is surface. Everything without weakness. To be among those who care so little for what I hold dear chips away at my diminishing defences, and yet my resolve is strong. These words, they’re just different combinations of letters, but they mean so much more. There’s no science in regards to love and emotion, but there is when it comes to language. The struggle is in trying to decipher the riddle of how to be free and poetic in my art when everything I yearn for is based on something that goes way over my head. I’m a prisoner; a vigilante who wants to run through fields of corn laughing with abandon while everyone else is drowning in equations. There are times when it gets too much, and all I can do is break down and suffer without any meaningful way of release. But I guess I’ll just keep on doing what I’ve been doing for so long now in the hope that there’s a place out there for the likes of myself and others where creation is adored, and those who preach apathy are banished into the jaws of hell. It’s a long shot, but if you don’t fight for what you believe in, you’re just as bad as those wankers who go through life thinking they’re it.