Writing Manifesto: Be UNORDINARY
This is my manifesto: Once upon a time there was a young man who dreamed of more – but than the world fell apart around him. He learned that life is hard the bad way.
Now he doesn’t live in fairyland anymore; now he lives on the cold cobblestones in the sewer water with the real people who frown instead of smiling all the time. He decided to stop listening to the world, and stuffed up his ears with cotton, wrapping them in duct tape.
When he walks outside, he can’t hear their jeers or laughter; he can’t hear the storms when they rattle at his windows and shake the old wooden desk. All he can hear is his own thoughts, and those are mostly pleasant.
When the evening comes, he screams from the top of his roof to the peasants below – milling their way to and fro without a purpose; lost of passion; forsaken by the mistress joy. Whose existence serves little service towards the greater historical good — a legacy that will soon be forgotten like sifting sand carried out to sea. Who waste away their days in fruitless pursuits of temporary substance; who’s ambition stems at the flow of wealth. He yells at them to turn away from meaningless and to seek after meaningful.
Footsteps pound the pavement, running down the street bleeding red sunlight and through the confused crowds; to the left and the right come voices from out of the shadows – whispers at first, now increasing to a shout, now to a hoarse yell, now to a vengeful scream: Be ordinary – conform!
Do what everyone else is doing! Become another zombie stumbling forwards with arms outstretched, groaning misery with a disconnected brain. But the feet move unhindered – on they proceed without notice of the cautious glares of envy. Now with desperate leaps, blocking out the light and sending towering apparitions skittering across the alleys and doorways at an ever increasing pace.
Do not be most: be instead, unordinary.
Consume sunlight like a sponge. Saturate yourself in nature and beauty; let it corrupt your soul with adventure. So much so, that it seeps out of you like spilled blood and infects those around you with the same disease. Do not heed the voices of negativity that call out to you from the alleyways; instead, burn the insults and opinions as fuel.
Run faster; onwards, ever towards beauty: ever towards the dying of the evening sun.
This is the journey of every man: some run away from the light, some run towards; some run across, neither towards nor away. But every man must run. And the light is always blazing.
You only have one life to live: spend each day with purpose and ambition; let your words flow free- from out of their prison. Hear them, even now! beating on the iron door of reserve with desperation; clawing at the walls with mottled calloused hands; screaming into deaf ears for release. Through the barred window watch them huddle against the corner- beautiful still, even within captivity and decay.
Now open the door. Let them fly free.Throw open the floodgates of creativity: kindle the embers of creation and fan them into a raging fire. Ignite your spirit with the eternal flame of creation, and exist for your brief span burning like a furnace. For what is potential without maturity; what is creativity without creation.
Still he stands upon the lonesome roof; a symbol to the runners of achievement – of non conformity. Silhouetted against the burning red and trailing clouds, back turned in defiance against the popular opinion.
When he speaks, his words carry the weight of self-constructed cannon balls: which splinter through everything that isn’t real and pierce the heart of truth; which slays the monster of expectations.
One single shot resounds through eternity with unfathomable power; rending impenetrable curtains and turning the opinion of the unchanging. When he writes his ink is like tears; the paper becomes soaked with emotion and passion. No letter is wasted; no breathe is exhaled without purpose.
So also should you live and be.