I might as well be

"Of all the lies we're fed, on which we gorge in our comfort addicted world, none is more insidious than the lie of romance. The seductive but infantile notion that somewhere there exists someone to compliment us in every way. Someone who will make us complete. Of course, this illusion keeps us from ever being complete in and of ourselves, and eventually encourages us to despise our shortcomings, our flaws, everything in which our humanity lies. Our humanity... without which, of course, we are nothing."

Does the quotation above render any kind of truth? It makes perfect sense to me, it's quite logical and rational, it speaks to my intellectual side, which at times can be quite dominant. But it is cold; mechanic. Isn't it? I know my mind would greatly appreciate such a truth, just as to calm down that irrational tempest that resides within.

I will not discuss the notion of romantic love in detail right now. I probably have before, severely coloured by teenage angst and whatnot. But I will again someday. The topic has fascinated me for a great number of years, and will probably continue to do so, unless I develop a particular liking for the molecular biochemistry of treefrogs - which just might happen.

Ahh, the loving air in a night filled with foreign beats and light darkness...

Ingen tanker

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Mystifistiske May

Mystifistiske May

23, Oslo

Mitt dpenavn er May. Jeg er mystifistisk - en utviklet form av vanlig mystikk. Jeg er en sjel som finner glede i skape i bilder og ord. Og jeg prver skape et nytt liv for meg selv, utenfor min lille hule av melankolsk musikk og film, utenfor depresjon, selvhat, sosial angst og andre uhumskheter. Jeg har trukket meg tilbake fra livet i alt for mange r; det er p tide og trampe meg opp og ut. Jeg byr deg god dag og veksler gjerne en linje eller tusen: mysticmay(a)rocketmail.com.

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