Review Summary: A portrait of disillusionment.
Some are remembered, others are often forgotten. Name recognition means nothing when the heart does not beat with a purpose. Whether the future generations carry on the flame, it is where it burned brightest that will forever be cherished. The speaker of the message always matters more than the message itself. The message has to be heartfelt and it has to be personal. A quirky and catchy chord is empty unless done with a passion. The world sucks, we all know that. You grow up listening to those fairytales, the ones that lived happily ever after. Only later do you start to question the purpose of being and if we will live happily ever after. The destruction of nature, the parents that lied, the wars that forever rage, the corruption of institutions, it becomes hard to see the light in all of this darkness. Most of us are born trapped in a system that works against us. A materialistic system that holds wealth above passion. We try to escape within each other, only to end up heartbroken. And so we beat our emotions out on ourselves, on each other, on walls, with sticks, with fists. Everyone has his/her own way to letting it out. We sing, we scream, we cry, we laugh, all in the attempt to accomplish something personal. It's okay, as long as it is done with meaning and with purpose. Some let themselves out and never look back. Others take note of the present and keep it on record, perhaps for the memory, perhaps for others to hear the story, as portraits of our past. The story continues, forever shared as long as humanity exists. Life goes on.
"There are a few truths and here's just one: I'm as fu
cked up about as much as you're fu
cked up. But beyond that there are only grasped straws and our own private perceived flaws."