Where are the voices that of so late were so dear to me?
Trapped in the levels between heaven and hell, notions of religion to which all knowledge is alien . . . what is this . . . the figures draped in blood, mocking the ideas of love. .
And to think that so suddenly all notions of friendship are gone, because you feel some level of loyalty to a person who could not care what you think. . .the social roles we play, that we play into and that we form without knowing that is what we are doing. . .who are we to see and not change and who are we to think that we have the right to say what needs to be changed. . .there are instances through out all of human history and literature as dictated by human history, literally hundreds of heroes and heroines that fell into the levels of social stigma because they, the Rebecca Sharps and the Ophelias, one climbing and abusing and one falling and descending into the levels of depression that we call mania, unto death to say the least she fell. . .and the other the social climbers who used their powers from such an early ages as that on the elementary school playground to sway others. . Left the other more moral and more clich characters behind . . . and our poor Ophelias drowning in their own tears, into the stream of life they fell . . . and who were there to witness. . no one they were witnesses to the great social manipulations of the stars . . .and then up the rungs of the ladder we all climb, trying to force ourselves to never let go. . .I challenge you to let go for a moment. . .I did and I did not drown, nor was I pushed out into the stream of my own tears, in fact I have no tears, no act of mourning for the action of a strategy playing star. . .I am finally here and alive and well, and well. . .I do not need to climb ladders. . .I think I will crawl on my own hands and knees rather than be carried by broken backs of ones who names I do not even know. . .
My dear Rebecca Sharp, I wish you luck and I wish you great joy, but beware of those who backs you break and those who arms you twist to suit your own needs and wants of society, for one day everything comes back around. . .and clichs were written for a reason. . . .
And my sweet Ophelia. . .nothing is so hard as stepping out of the stream, after that everything becomes just another step and you are well suited for that. . .one foot and then one foot, one foot and then one foot. . until you are far away from the social climbing and the false prophets of beauty. . .you will do well. . .
And no this was not written for you!
Trapped in the levels between heaven and hell, notions of religion to which all knowledge is alien . . . what is this . . . the figures draped in blood, mocking the ideas of love. .
And to think that so suddenly all notions of friendship are gone, because you feel some level of loyalty to a person who could not care what you think. . .the social roles we play, that we play into and that we form without knowing that is what we are doing. . .who are we to see and not change and who are we to think that we have the right to say what needs to be changed. . .there are instances through out all of human history and literature as dictated by human history, literally hundreds of heroes and heroines that fell into the levels of social stigma because they, the Rebecca Sharps and the Ophelias, one climbing and abusing and one falling and descending into the levels of depression that we call mania, unto death to say the least she fell. . .and the other the social climbers who used their powers from such an early ages as that on the elementary school playground to sway others. . Left the other more moral and more clich characters behind . . . and our poor Ophelias drowning in their own tears, into the stream of life they fell . . . and who were there to witness. . no one they were witnesses to the great social manipulations of the stars . . .and then up the rungs of the ladder we all climb, trying to force ourselves to never let go. . .I challenge you to let go for a moment. . .I did and I did not drown, nor was I pushed out into the stream of my own tears, in fact I have no tears, no act of mourning for the action of a strategy playing star. . .I am finally here and alive and well, and well. . .I do not need to climb ladders. . .I think I will crawl on my own hands and knees rather than be carried by broken backs of ones who names I do not even know. . .
My dear Rebecca Sharp, I wish you luck and I wish you great joy, but beware of those who backs you break and those who arms you twist to suit your own needs and wants of society, for one day everything comes back around. . .and clichs were written for a reason. . . .
And my sweet Ophelia. . .nothing is so hard as stepping out of the stream, after that everything becomes just another step and you are well suited for that. . .one foot and then one foot, one foot and then one foot. . until you are far away from the social climbing and the false prophets of beauty. . .you will do well. . .
And no this was not written for you!
thank you sweetie!