Happy Heart Art

Pic of the day
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Quote of The Day

"How much evil must we do in order to do good?"
-Robert S. McNamira

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Untitled Entry

Passion,
That's the feeling I get from writing, not writing in the sense that I let my pen etch letters and words onto a sheet of paper. No, I mean really writing, like when, pen in hand, my heart bleeds onto the page and you know that all the tears I've hidden away, bottled up, jarred inside of me have suddenly overflowed and, teaming with emotion, flooded your heart and soul with sorrow and joy, pain, and pleasure, victory and defeat.
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Self

8:23, Torn, a shiver runs through my body as I turn off my music. I am alone. I hate the inexplicable pain I feel, it’s vast emptiness frightens me, for I know not what may lay in it’s murky depths, I fear the possibility of it taking full control of me, fear the consequences of such a travesty. Yet, I simultaneously love the pain, love, the hate. Yes, I know it sounds odd but believe me its true. I have always felt that this inner turmoil has afforded me a creative luxury. A luxury that I would have almost undoubtedly gone without had it not played such a substantial role in my life, and again the dilemma builds as I might also argue that in the absence of such inner turmoil, such pain, I might have been so content, so appreciative that I may have been able to achieve a considerable amount more than I have. However, the latter is not the case. 8:59 damn it. It’s taken me half an hour to get down here, I’m weeping inside. No-one can hear me cry, see the tears streaming down my face, touch them and feel their warmth, not even I. I weep inside, the pain is unbearable and I can feel the emotion inside building up, rumbling, I yearn to channel my sadness, my pain into anger, I am, after all, a man am I not? I hold it in “pero mi Corazon sangra, Mi Corazon sangra,” and it hurts so badly I don’t think that I can, don’t think I will ever forget it.







Coming from me, you might expect cocky, expect arrogant but truth-be-told I am neither of these Sure, I firmly believe that I am intelligent, good-looking, kind, and polite, but what is wrong with that. Imagine, strong self. A self, so strong that It is uninhibited by societal weakness. A self that stands above the toxic pollution of the feeble minded majority. A self that stands tall when all others buckle, sway, and fall. A self that is myself, yourself, a strong self.