The centre does not hold.
What does 'perfect' mean? Flawless? Beautiful? Success? Unmarked?
How is that we all have different ideas of what it is?
That is because perfection does not exist as an entity. It is a concept. A concept used for comparison. We mark things according to how close they come to being ideal - to you.
THAT is what perfection is. A subjective notion.
How many people allow that cognition to cloy their reality?
A laconic description must exist..
Tell me, if I find beauty in one's pain, does that make me an optimist or a sadist? Irony amuses me.
That we ARE but our own Gods; why are we so inept, so inadequate unto ourselves?
Pain is alive, yes.
We cannot choose whether or not to feel pain. That is what draws me in awe. We can, however, choose if we want to suffer. Sometimes, we choose suffering as a means of atonement, and other times, we choose it because it forces us to reawaken - to move on.
Perfection is as prone to morphism as I am. It changes every time we envisage something better, more pleasing, more efficient, more encapsulating.. More forbidden.
Perfection is exactly that which we could never have.
When something big happens, time divides into before and after, the before time breaks up into dreams, the dreams dissolve to darkness. This bifurcation is necessary. Leave the past in the past; go find the future.
Sigh. The solace of infamy.
I have done it again.
