Sometimes I stay up too late, and this is what happens. Screw it. call it Art.

There’s something about dancing…
It can be a dismal slow flowing of you alone
A desperate attempt to fix everyone else’s eyes on oneself
It’s often a sharp and jarring expression of hopeless conformity
A familiar silent conversation between a couple, almost like breathing
It might explode from your heart, zapping feelings through your arms and legs that you half unwittingly and joyfully define with your movement


It’s kind of like living.

Everything’s kind of like living. Sometimes I have to laugh at myself – why create fanciful examples of what life is like when I could instead be living it? I suppose the former is sometimes more interesting than the other. But then again, what is true living? Could the working of the imagination be living as much as the actions required for everyday life, or simply an escape from them? Meh. Whatever the answer, I go on thinking about doing rather than simply doing and moving on. I think it’s the considering that makes the actions worth doing. Considering the appreciation you have for someone. Considering the feel of the breeze. Considering the fact that you are working toward some purpose. Thank God humans think too much. Where would be the joy in life – where would there be life without the considering, the confusion, and the imagination? It's worth it to daydream.