Untitled No. 12 by Marc Alexander Valle

I used to hate people, and I was certain that I was a lone soldier meant to swing a sword at the world through his art. Every stroke of the pen, an indictment on those who said or did something that hurt me. But all that happened was the sword landed on my foot every time, because none of those revenge pieces ever did anything but put a band-aid on it. 

I got tired of broken and bloody toes. But mostly I got tired of swinging the sword. 

I pay less and less attention to what I think it is that I think anymore. I’ve only ever gone back and forth, running slides through my head like those old projectors. Slide after slide, thought after thought, all year until a few years later, I’m a different person with different philosophies and different feelings towards different things. That’s just how it’s been. Definitely for me, maybe for most people. With every point, a counterpoint, waiting to make a fool of me and ready to tear down my views. 

I hear people say, “How can we be so arrogant to believe that we’re the only beings that exist in the universe?” Meanwhile we think our opinion is the only one that matters in that same universe, the same opinion that will eventually change.

But who knows. If everything is change, maybe I’ll go back to the old way. Or maybe I never left it at all. Maybe this statement is another form of what I claim to detest and I just am who I am and those unlying themes will never change. 

It just feels good to write and to express myself and to think without anyone telling me what to write and express and think. The freedom. The power. The choice. Where does it even come from, and what will it make of us? And would it make things better to even be able to answer those two questions?  

I can go on and on about these things, and there was a time when I would. At least in my own head. But not today. Maybe tomorrow. But definitely not today. There’s still some things that I’m certain of. And I’m certain of today. I’m definitely certain of today. 

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