Blizzard

I can write sarcastically about the androgyny of pop culture, or the post-modern allusions that perforate media in human sized holes and make everyone chuckle from time to time. I can write about that which is superficial, cheeky, or derisive. I can write about films, or anything else that anyone with Wi-fi can 'connect' to. I can most certainly write about fashion and still be safe, hiding behind the anonymity of the Internet and the knowledge that fashion is an art that anyone can critique. I cannot however, talk about my feelings, or that which drives me to be the intellectually inquisitive version of Lois Lane.

It is kind of like my own personal Romantic period, without the preclusion of Enlightenment. I have never believed that rationality would be able to solve all my woes. Therefore it is my own post-modern romantic period, where the outcry of feelings too 'dangerous' to be displayed outwardly are ushered through a new medium. One that is suppressed and subversive, even the most contemplative minds tend to dismiss it as just art. I however, having overdosed on Hollywood plot lines always wish they could somehow translate to real life. You know, the moment where the protagonist spills their true feelings via song, confession, or sometimes even by accident and everything that was going to go wrong suddenly goes right? That beautiful moment of clarity, peace and justice that never seems to quite happen in real life.
The secret revolutionary messages that were interlaced into the art of the Romantic period have gone extinct. In their stead stands the fragmented society of new media, alight with various sub and counter cultures. So similar and so very different are we, all striving for division all wanting to belong.

I have tried to blog about the abstract, and it has always left me feeling a little bit unconsoled. So now, I will try something different, and take things a little deeper into the true nature of humanity.

So I sit in my room and watch the blizzard outside same as the blizzard behind my eyes. The snow whips around the lamp post in a wild torrent. Without regard for direction or order the snowflakes hurtle towards the banks below. From behind the heated pane it looks so beautiful, but if I was caught up in it, I would be thinking otherwise. But honestly the blizzard is inside too, crowding around rational discourse clouding it like a thick veil. Right now my mind seems impermeable to order, driven by wild chaos dipping in sadness like a single melancholy breath.

That is when I realize I am not the only one in the storm.