“…most men and women will grow up to love their servitude and will never dream of revolution.”
S/O to Alduos Huxley for those wise words – 108 years later and still relevant. Goals (re:writing and not servitude). I don’t know about you but adult life has recently shown me that I oscillate between obsession and boredom, jaded-ness and optimism, black and full colour. What’s that got to do with being spaced out Dale? Or old novels? Or futuristic fashion even? Which is why we’re here anyway right? Right.
Well, I guess it starts with the realisation that the rat-race can suck you in faster than you can say sto…p. Before you blink you’re spaced out and robotic, moving from sleep to work to traffic to date to sleep to work to traffic to party to sleep to work to you get the point. Fuck. So what do you (or me) do to avoid said point?
You wake the eff up that’s what. You wake up and be aware. Have you been wearing black for a week straight? Answer’s yes? Wear fucking fuschia today. Bored with listening to the same playlist on the way to work? Make a frikken new one (here‘s one for you even). Are you feeling sad today? Yes? Feel fucking sad, fully feel it. It’s all temporary. I know I sound like a self help book with tourettes but I’m absolutely fucking enthused to avoid spaced-out social norms and go after a dream by allowing myself to runaway from sensible advice. Wear the silver flats, they said. They’ll match, they said. No, I’m gonna wear the fucking white platforms for no reason other than feels.
Photos by @nienish