for touch, for nights & for the things we still have no words for
Wake up at 3 am, whilst most of the world is still asleep and escape the snare of a your very own world, a cherished splinter of your mind – and run;
wake up at 3 in the afternoon, relish the cozy comfort of your bed but also the liberty to stay in your reverie and eat chocolate cake for breakfast.
Sneak out of your bedroom at midnight and tiptoe past your parents’ door at dawn – try to not act tipsy at the breakfast table, pop an Advil and move on;
stay inside your room all night, rummage through old letters and photographs, have a nostalgic conversation with your best-friend and listen to music that makes you happy.
Do not watch television, create something instead – rely on art as escapism;
watch television and observe how they cry or smirk or behave when they are in love, use them as creative inspiration but be unique.
Blend in the crowd, be just another speck of paint on a painter’s shirt, try mediocrity and concur; do not conform to social norms – stand out and rise against, be an incongruous person – the very same one who spurs social change, be a rebel.
Blast your music as loud as you want and profess love for that odd band, ignore looks of contempt;
surround yourself with meditative silence and spend your time in introspection.
No, actually, don’t follow anything I said – be a walking fucking paradox and make your own fucking rules.