Its a journey about heart. That’s what makes anything an art.
And as things jump from a single conclusion to other, we will be the one who stay in the middle, never imposing whether why should this matter executed this way and other aspect treated that way. We put our decision to what we feel to be right, based on the trust towards each other. That, there are always holes we can complete with each of our unique approach, and letting other holes be filled with our comrades’, without ever doubting their decision to do it which way.
A dream of a team, not a dream team. Probably what have been filling my thought, because it was always people before product, creator before created.
In my context, I am the smithy of words. Despite what others might suggest, I believe in what I do and I love what I have and about to write. For me, words are not just symbols or curved lines. Words are reflection of humanity’s oldest and most primal feelings, as well as what us humans have been dreaming for our future. words change, words evolve, they react to grand shifts of world’s order and cataclysm, they respond to detailed changes of society’s worries and aspiration. As the British philosopher Gilbert Riley mentioned of ghosts in the machine, I believe that there are ghosts in words. Both of the factors, separate the state of mind and the state of living, as a word can never truly be a word as human body (machine) can never truly be human, without the ghosts.
But what of me, what I have to say and will continually fail to say in the name of the greater goods of our plan, might be as irrelevant as this rant. I guess that whole mambo jambo about a dream of team should have been ceded a long time ago. The absolute trust towards each of our work can never be achieved, not in this stage. There will be trials ahead, where we will finally see which word can go hand in hand with which, and which one will fail. I am not implying that we will fail, but we surely won’t reach what we aim without leaving several people behind. We will eventually grow separated, as we will contrive. But in such detritus of endeavor, we will find ourselves strive. Maybe as one, maybe as friends, maybe as enemies. still, the struggle lives on.