We live in a nonrandom dehumanistic world bent on squaring us
You are birthed into this square room, off a square bed, through square halls, to square crib, taught on square books from square shelves, fed from square fridge, taught in square desk from square board, to wear square cap on head, square doors, square tiles, windows, shelves, you live on the "block"... You watch the square screen off the square box, tap on square keys for your square desktop, everything is square every where you go is square
Square is used to refer to a mindknumbingly fvcking dumb person
I think we are being hexed
Come at me
I was born on a round world under the shadow of a fractal tree in a chaotic snow storm with crystalline hexagonal snowflakes. I drink coffee, moving in brownian motion, from a round cup, in an ergonmic chair. I drove to work on a non-linear road over rolling hills and an arched bridge with triangular cross-bracing in a car shaped mathematically to minimize wind resistance and create rotational power.
Yes, we optimize material dimensions into repetitive units to minimize cost of manufacturing and assembly. We are economically guided by function, rather than form unless our resources and our minds provide us the freedom to move beyond.
I was taught to think outside the box. It's not the world's fault you're still in it.
Bring it on.
I like to present that the collective acceptance of this life, as life, is as collectively accepting a homosexual in a pink fairy dress, as the embodiment of a man. But we are so blind that we cannot know of the reality of hercules and such.
I took a journey to the ocean to learn about it's mysteries. I closed my eyes and placed a straw into the surf. I put my mouth to the straw, exhaled my breath, then pulled fluid sharply into my being to become one with the sea. The sea was a foul concoction of salt and grit. I spewed the frothy mixture back into the sand. I coughed and gagged and held back my vomit. Of all the great things I had ever heard about the sea, none of my expectations were met. I thought there must be some mistake. I put my ear to the straw and heard no sound other than a muffled gurgle. I put my eye to the straw and saw nothing but a round circle of inky black. I put my nose to the straw and inhaled sharply of it's scents. The icy liquid burned my sinuses with unending agony. The ocean is a foul place, I decided.
Hemingway lied. Verne was a fool. Twain was delusional. There was no mystery in the sea. No glory. No power. No majesty. No creatures of the deep, beyond description. The sea, as I could clearly tell through my straw, was a cold and dark place, unfit for man and beast. I turned my back on the sea. As the sun set behind me, I waited until dark before departing. I looked out over the endless blackness once more, towards infinity in the stars and saw nothing.
This is the filter through which you view the world. My circular straw is your angular box. You see what you choose to see. You ignore all that exists beyond the edges and lines. Our choices limit out perception. Our minds limit our interpretation. Our interpretation does not make the world.
When we are children, adults hand us images with thick black lines on eggshell parchments. We are told to distribute 64 waxy hues into the space bounded by light absorption. Do not explore the emptiness beyond. But as we grow, we know better. We see the borders as training guides, never meant to limit us, but only to contain our enthusiasm until our wisdom no longer heeds the constraints. The guides were there to build our confidences and teach us control over our actions.
All the while, books and games and media productions teach us to reach beyond our immediate senses and yearn for a world far beyond the walls and the windows. The boxes that protect us when we are younger are only meant to secure us, not because we are meant to be controlled and bound, but because we are vulnerable. We are vulnerable in our skin, to dangers of nature, animals, and our own passions. The borders, like the coloring books, only teach us to live in safety until we are ready for more. Once we are truly ready, no square can contain our spirit. Only fear, not the perception of oppressive geometry, keeps you inside.
I liked you better as “Come at me”.
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