The mind plays tricks on us,
not the kind of tricks we see in magic eye 3d posters, not the kind where the wheels on a car mysteriously rol backwards, not even the kind where we finish complete strangers sentences,
no the mind plays much harsher tricks on us.
tricks involving ideas.
Ideas come like a meteor shower, like hail in the night, they strick, usually all at once, and when there is no paper or pen around to copy them down to save them for the moment you can act upon them accordingly. They pound the soul with enthusiasum, with anger, frustration, excitement, resentment, greed, devotion, lust, and only the souls which react upon impulse of these troublesome ideas seem to make anything of themselves. Painters, writers, musicians, these are the people we love, we admire, because we have lost that ability to translate ideas on the spot to something universally beautiful as they can do.
Or have we?
even now while writing this, i have lost the idea which inspired a blog entry.
what was I going to write about?
how being published yet censored in what I thought was the finest periodicle ever created both uplifted, and shamed my spirits, I was exstatic to find out I had my name in an international political magazine, and cracked the cat-o-nine tails on my back after I read what they posted.
Adbusters. A magazine known for its free speech agenda, censured my editorial. My two page long essay on how people who follow the magazines left wing extreamist political preachings would more than likely not have a permanent address, as they would be living under the caplitalist radar, and therefore have to pick their periodicls up from local sources.
In reality, those local sources have been all to familiarly muscled out by the only store to still carry this anti-capitalist magazine, barnes and noble.
This is the cliff notes of the essay I wrote, and what was “left out” of my snipit. My name appears under a three sentence childish fluff script which does nothing but say how much I love the magazine. I sound like a 12 yr old girl at a backstreet boys concert in my first published article in my favorite international political magazine.
what a fruitful day for white out.