at times i am engulfed with ideas, chasing a whim to explore when i find myself crammed within the thoughts that should be processed so that i can make it to the end of the day. its like bottling up a feeling and waiting for the right time to release it. somehow though, these feelings are made of whispery thread. like compost, they disintegrate with time. locked up for too long, the ideas disappear. if only the freedom to live like marchesa was bestowed upon us all creating art would be as simple as just living.
each dying idea deserves a blogpost, but in the age of efficiencies and economies, here will lie their mass grave. spare a minute for these unbegotten souls.
any the hoo, this was supposed to be a much deeper post, but my mindset has transferred to lackadaisical. to understand the sentiment, please consult sheldon cooper.
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