don't read this article for it is not worth your time

You make creativity a residue of a failure of a planned art.  But who does that anyway in anyhow?  I see, that man, he told me, that art is never a consequence of an intention.  Just like excellence and wisdom and knowledge and that foregoing which prevails between the act of that which may have come from a will creating a destination and that hope that guides the wings of the wind towards a perspective just over the hills of despairing. That man, he is full of madness.  I was talking to him just last week, I was in front of a lot of people, blinded by disgust that only came from their pride, but I continued to tell the stories of nonsense and make-believe and the stories shared to me by those I look up to.  He shouted to me, “Fool, you don’t know the reformation of a thought upon the extinguishing of a failed attempt to grasp a memory and by the discourse of that one who have come to be in front of your madness!” Probably he was right, there is no such thing as excellence.  For it is just a symphony of echoes of good matters that sound good to the ignorant and animate approbation to the knowing.  He was right.  Knowledge of everything is never a guarantee for an identity that beholds an aura of excellence just because it is seen by those who have come from the brinks of their resolute or humble commencing.  They do not know that everything came from the symphony of those little good matters.  That man was right.  At least what my heart said.  For I did not lay down my guards, and I shouted back to him with words that awoken the souls of the dead rats and pigs.  “Fool, that incense that made you think to rise and shout at me, it may never be pride, from your assumption, but it surely tells that you just want to make sense on a mystery that I have never even assumed that I know.  You imagine that my assumption is based on my attempt for a reformation of that matter that scientists don’t even fully understand, well, if you say so, then perhaps you are the one who is a fool, for I don’t know what you are saying!!  If that is the case then it means I haven’t even said that.  I am sleeping here and you woke me up with your shouting.”  “Give my veins the justice to rest based upon the principles that hold morality from plunging to its grave – yes, the moral fiber that give what is due to those other than you.”  And then I woke up. My saliva was spilling out from blessed mouth to the praying mountains just a mile away. It was just a dream.  Later that morning, I sipped my coffee wondering on the edges of dejection and bliss while awaiting the sun to kneel down in front of me begging for the return of life amidst that one which you have come to call now as my madness.  You who are reading this, you are my friend. For you accept your madness too unlike those who live in their time pretending the sanity of their becoming while their dreams are of war of unicorns and goats.  You my friend had been with the clinch of madness – too.  Tomorrow you may hold my hand when we strangle misery.  Hahahaha.  i.fleawulf.