Thoughts On Earth Essays - , Term Papers, Research Papers

Contemplations On Earth This world has a bad situation for virtuoso. Aestheticness, love, excellence, innovativeness is distorted what's more, mutilated like crude steel into monetary benefit and social profiteering. What happened to the voyaging rovers, the gleemen and the carnival? An age of lost spirits is found in this chaos of formal outfits and siphons walking head on like lemmings over the bluff to an end that is very unsurprising. Instruction, Occupation, Marriage, Children, Retirement in Florida, and Death in a Mahogany Coffin 6 Feet Under with the Other Poor Souls caught there with you. No, no, no. No sir, that is not me. Me and Jimi're going up elsewhere, some place that the fantasies work out as expected and dreams are waking recollections. Nah, I don't need a ideal world, that is a hallucination, man. I need enchantment. The third-star-on-the-right-and?straight-on-until-morning *censored* that your mother pressed into your head around evening time to quiet you down and make you rest. You didn't have any acquaintance with it at that point yet its solitary when you do rest that you ever discover this place. A couple of pockets of extra enchantment from a period over a significant time span in a equal future all covered up in profound heavenly gives in of marvel watched by flaring red blades and phony dividers and Mr. SandMan's lethargic, dusty, night shafts. Inventiveness is only recollections of a period, a spot, an age that wasn't lost in the briar fix of the real world, a sludge of advancement that we wind up in presently. I surmise I'm simply trusting that that next life will take me back, pull me free of this tar pit hellfire opening where a grin is a jeer and a companion is an enemy. I feel sorry for the individuals who don't understand the excellence of a spirit grin, a youngster in her own reality. In the sand box: they will be they just ones who realize how to return to that place, in any case, nobody trusts them. Indeed, even I experience difficulty now. I get looks into the life I need to lead since its ?right' yet a hankering somewhere inside reveals to me that there's more and I'm simply not looking hard enough, taping an inappropriate vein; frightening myself conscious from an inappropriate dream. I need to break out. I feel like I'm simply sitting out on life, simply viewing the senseless individuals pass by, on their senseless missions. In any case, I can't tell in case I'm simply being sluggish and hanging tight for something to occur or in case I'm dreaming a bad dream ish presence in a Hell called Earth and when I do at long last wake up again I'll be back where I have a place. Snap you heels multiple times, Dorothy and state, ?There's no spot like home, ?cause there's no spot like home, ?cause there's no spot like home.' I'll meet you there, I surmise, ?cause I don't know what time my train's coming in. Furthermore, perhaps, quite possibly my place is genuine; yet perhaps its one that is only somewhat higher than your own.