On Freedom

Freedom is simple; so simple, in fact, that it may be compared to the work of Lou Reed, which is canonical in the halls of noise music. You may spend a length of time trying to decipher the simplistic chord progression, the very skeletal structure of the songs; but in itself, each song is oh so simple.

In the last 48 hours I have slept a sum total of 4 hours, and eaten what in most cultures would pass off as warm-up for a real meal. Why? In the pursuit of freedom.

When a Thursday is over, I take a moment to reflect upon the week. And I see ahead of me the only breathing room I'll have, fleeting as it may be, for what will seem like an eternity when it comes. And the drive for freedom, a drive that we are not versed in, a drive we are not made to exercise, a drive we have embedded in us, lurches. To be hungry, young and foolish; to grab the bull by its colossal testicles.

But where has that left me? What freedom can I possibly salvage from these walls of poor, peeling paint. The only freedom has a proximity extending till my skin. And that is good enough. That is enough to make life amazing.

To not worship reason, to abandon and neglect, to be the dense, sporadic erst of bees-- random, flowing and killer, is to be that free. To simply misremember norm at will is to be that free.

48 hours later, my skin needs changing. Hello world. Good day to you.