PAINTBALLING

 I am 25 years old and fairly old now in this adolescence thing. People now see me as an adult or maybe a kid adult, at best. Funny how each year you look back and realise how naive and childish you are but the current one seems to be the wisest. It's impossible to ever see yourself truly as who you are, at any given time - a fool's baby just trying to figure out the right way to crawl and feel safe. 
As kids we all relish in the shadow of stupidity and hence forward keep trying to shed that shadow that we so cherish. because sanity comes with a price- the price of acting wise and proper. One walks about hiding the chaos of the mind, each one afraid of the pop, splatter, thud that is constantly going on in the head, like a kaleidoscope of troubled beads bouncing off each other and hitting one briefly repeatedly, a mosquito coming again and again and you beating the shit out of your head to get one hit at it, one chance of beating out that irritating buzz.



What's wrong with the buzz? What's wrong with the buzz, you ask? Only that nobody wants anybody to find out they've been hearing buzzes, everybody obsessed in their own buzz and how to get rid of it. How to not look insane, stupid, how to be a real person, a proper one. not a monkey hanging by it's tail or a cat running in circles following one's own when in reality we are all exactly that; an animal, having a time out in the zoo of life. If only being one was acceptable. to whom? To us, ofcourse. To oneself. In the privacy of your mind, you are the asylum that holds Van Gogh with his cut ear, dripping out and drowning in the yells and screams of the thoughts that would make everyone a pariah, yet pretending to be a computer - always logical and incapable of making mistakes.
Maybe all we need is a pop, splatter and thud. a paintball competition of the minds. a laugh at the insanity of existence.

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