They’re enlivened at the very prospect of spending the entirety of a night bathed in a beautifully confused assemblage of bodies swaying in an enthralling rhythm, sweating profusely, surrounded with spiritually liberating concoctions bearing names of laughable grandeur.
They’ve suffered. When those closest to them thought they might just get lost in an abyss of angered rue, they flickered with a light of emboldened energy that stood as a beacon to the multitude of hopelessly lost souls around them.
Their smile, sweet and honest and genuine and true, draws those around them in, and inspires passionate displays of recklessness amidst a plethora of hot and bothered screaming.
They want everything at the same time. Everything — not just you, but that unknown face that just walked in bathed in a shadow of sparkling anonymity. They want that person they haven’t met yet, because they seek revitalization and fulfillment of their very soul through the human interaction; the human interaction that calls for their perpetual motion. To rest complacent with a state of immobilized passivity is to waste away one’s very existence.
They seek enlightenment through the window of time when the restaurants have long closed, the clubs blare a series of beats surprisingly melodic in their professionally executed brevity. They don’t learn from a series of assigned books, and a pencil surely serves more purpose than regurgitating the thoughts of another’s across a blank sheet of paper. A pencil to them — well, that’s a world of intricately intertwined possibilities.
They might paint a world of their own lucid creation using the pencil as a wand bestowed upon them by a wizard in a tall star-decorated hat that may or may not exist in this dimension. Or they might just seek the newfound ability of being able to grasp what otherwise might always be out of reach with an artificial, #2 extension of their forefinger.
Caffeine? Coffee? Vitamin-enhanced, artificially flavored, over carbonated, gut-melting energy drinks? They laugh at this fallacy that we need a supplement of sorts to catalyze the generation of muscle-twitching, manically exuberant energy. Running, dancing, jumping, yelling, living in what is the here and the now where it both hurts like hell and feels good as a prolonged fuck is their lifeblood.
They exist off of those they’ve both been acquainted and haven’t been since acquainted with yet. They’re mad to live a hundred lives in the span of one, love an arena of souls as if they were an extension of their own, scream for no reason other than to hear the reverberation of their own strained vocals, and learn as much as they can through the human experience.
Pushing themselves to a phase of delirium enhanced physical exhaustion through the climbing of a mountain peak where they can look out at the perfectly disordered lineage of surrounding snow decorated peaks, and scream as if for the preservation of their life only to be reminded of their own insignificance relative to all the beauty this planet has to offer from matter microbial to astronomical in scale.
They appreciate the ants congregated around a cheese-infused cracker alongside a small-town grocery store where one can only buy their Cokes out of the ‘old-fashioned’ Coke bottles.
They want to live an old-fashioned life, bathed in a light of modernity, and they recognize this might be feasible through the intellectual consumption of as many works from authors and film producers (long since passed) as possible.
They mold a life of overwhelming absurdity for fear of living one of minimal simplicity, and they’re mad for all of it. They inspire the creatures of habit to do away with their shackles of routine every now and again, and instead adopt a life immeasurable in its spontaneity.
They seek no praise from onlookers, and exist to a symphony that plays in an unrealizable harmony to their own meticulously enacted independence.
So here’s to the mad ones, the crazy ones, the ones that reap a life’s worth of memories by absorbing everything around them at the same time, and creating a tumultuous masterpiece of ungodly allure that is their life’s portrait to the tick of a clock that demands their perpetual motion.