Perfection is in the eye of the beholder, the same as beauty. When there is a judgment delivered about us, it responds to some kind of well buried foreign neurosis. For the good or for the bad, whatever it is, is none of our business. Who walk in your shoes? Why do we like so much to interfere with other trajectories? Trying to exert mommy’s coercion we don’t benefit anybody. Me, myself, I am in favor of a constant coup d’état to establishment, to challenge things my way, though the consequence will be just good for amassing solitude. Let me use my right to use my prism and turn things upside down, with the anarchic pulse of improvisation. Who sets the limit? Who is the fool trying to place doors on an open field? (Your field) The nosy neighbor makes me out of my mind. I like my decoration like that, don’t get into my house and try correct the position of things. We don’t share traumas or we are not even involved in the same kind of drama, understanding drama, as the personal daily battles that are being fought individually. If my interests, so non–understandable for the majority , makes me a target for some cheap gossiping, who cares? Light gets through you like it does not get through anything on this planet, in its unique perfect imperfect way. The defense of this uniqueness arouses in me steely determination to defend charms and appeals that nobody else can see. B_Nour
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