When I think and express what is called 'negative', I am wrong. People are quick to bring me down, tackle me, because what I express does not benefit the audience. But I have never made art and expression, be it a story or a drawing, for the sake of the audience; but instead for the sheer joy of expressing myself. I never think of the reader, except when I am making a sell-out work, when I am penning a thought. There is something liberating in expression. That is not a secret locked away in a Pandora's box that got opened only by a few artists. I mean, why else would we love talking so much? I like to express. I like to let it out.
So why should a bubble that ensues out of my head, something so pure and genuine, be popped out of life just because the audience does not like it? It is my bubble. Everybody has their own bubbles. It is not like there are just a few handful of bubble-smiths, fortunately gifted to make thought bubbles.
How can a bat express daylight? How can an owl express sunshine? It hurts.
Order. Control. What earth is grappling for amidst the beauty but uncertainty of chaos.
I cross the road. They wait. They cross the road. I wait. Else I bump into them and they bump into me. The stupidity of mankind.
The line (if there is a line, which I don't think there is) between what is negative and positive is barely existent. It is the habit of humans, in the same way that the hideousness of the traffic system is based on human infatuation for order, to put things in convenient envelopes and tagged systemmatically.
Look inside me. There is no order to delve into and extract that I can express ever fully. There are no lines, rulers, borders and envelopes in my mind.
I believe the devil in us wants to separate our thoughts and own these tags. Make us run on the left of the road. Make us follow signals and signs.
The devil invented the traffic signals.