Cry for Something but Do It in Silence

Let me be a person, everything else is lost in evolution.

Spring translates itself through the rising sun and the unending tenderness of the newborn. It is birth, and it will always be birth, that pulls us out of what we so desperately try to hold onto. Each leaf is worth a hunt, but there are no hunters, none serious enough to do it for the will to survive. There is only the eternal boredom that overtakes man when he wants to feel powerful. Even power loses its allure when man realizes that a human hand is stronger than the tiny gifts of Mother Nature. And with that, man has lost the last thing left to him, the power over what seems to conquer us, oh, we sad creatures.

Hunting has been replaced by something else that gives man power: possession. In this world, there is nothing more worthy than possession. We would love to own everything, the entire world, spring, and above all, beauty - all of it should belong to us, and if it does not belong to us, it should belong to no one else.

We toil tirelessly because the hunger for power, which we gain through possession, is insatiable. But the drive to consume is not only born out of a desire for power but also because we long to be someone. Consume or be consumed - that's our new hunting cry. It's what we're fleeing from, yet it's what we relentlessly seek. 

On some
days I am
  Sylvia Plath's
  Ariel,
on others
I am her
  suicide 
  letter. 

Catrinel Bucur.