The Wild Roses

The wild roses have shown me human emotion recently and reestablishing connectivity has regenerated feelings, emotions, and empathy that use to be closed off in the past twenty years. This rebirth does not settle all too well with my former robotic like observational directive to feel passion, desire, and personal selfish joy. Television shows, music, and the general public took on different meaning as if formerly unavailable layers of interpetation had just become acessible. These ideas only made me more crazy, sympathy washed over my brain, was this nothing more than the acknowledgement of failure, of death, of giving up on living outside narrow minds of American and global society, my final swan song toward down the eventual road of self delusional goodness, as well as socially accepted cultural traits like practicing religion, belief in family, and the righteousness of the government system alongside my fellow human being? A part of me wants to give up, not break away from the mistakes of the past, but keep on making them, growing older, becoming more and more irrelavant, paralyized, fragmented, numb, and uncaring about anything more than the new culturally hip idea found from the webpages of where such concepts of 21st century cool are currently being cultivated.

I had to turn my back on these rediscovered feeling, mental states, and memories because they hold nothing for me now, not in this cold digital metropolis.