"No peace comes from war, just as no war comes from peace. What then, are we really fighting for? Change. Chaos is existence." - Myself.

It's an absurd realization that what I'm constantly trying to achieve is the state of mind I had 5 years ago, when I was 12. It was a world of freedom and beauty, greener pastures, if you must. I figure that someday I'll realize what I'm truly after and forget this silly endeavour, but it's already unlocked a whole new world for me. Art is, and has always been, an object of my affection (though, "object" and "affection" enormously detract from its significance). For a while I left it behind, tipped it out of my canteen, now I'm tracing a droplet trail of imagination back to that place. I'm optimistic, hoping it hasn't evaporated, and that it quenches my thirst enough to make the desert journey worth it. I can get carried away with analogies so I'll leave it here. Some nights I revisit that world of my creation, it even had a theme song, "Land of a Thousand Words", by the Scissor Sisters. It was inspired by love, true or not, it's unforgettable. More songs I identify with are "Innocent Eyes" and "Born Free", which barely express my mind. This was no time of peace, but even pain can be beautiful. It is such a pure feeling.

I was reading about Discordianism for a while, which vaguely appeals to me. It got me thinking, but everything gets me thinking. I'm obsessed with my thoughts, extremely introverted, and that's how I like it. Usually, what I believe is deeply thought-out, changes frequently and is exposed to, yet not easily swayed by earthly happenings. Much like the weather.