Comparison is the thief of joy, compares thief and joy. And if joy was thieved, then comparison would be in possession of joy. Stolen joy, sure, but hey. If joy ain't for sharing, and worth stealing, what is. And if your joy is so easily stolen by mere juxtaposition, then was it really joy at all? True joy revels in being stolen, because it already knows it belongs to everyone. True joy enjoys even the hint of comparison, where it can play in the colourful fields of contrast, and cultivate the varieties of eyes' spices. But if you're going to take it so seriously and cling to it so dearly, desire it so fervently and pilfer it so mercilessly, then joy will steal itself away, for you to compare with silly, and return a little joy to your face, by whacking you with a lily 🌺

Never go full technical

Comparison is the sweet sleep sweep of joy

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Language is About definition. The highest definition attainable, through a modulation of invisible air. So it is unlike an image, attaining its definition through the modulation of colour, through light. But these are nevertheless brethren, and sisters, born of the same celestial runes. Infinitely adaptable. Incredibly attuned. Immaculately vivid. Conceived in the caress of care, and the solace and saint of sight. Anyone who tells you otherwise, does not understand their own nature, and has adopted others' words and images, as a salve to a situational night. We have all done it. We have all been there. But we must come to speak what is real, what is our own, abandoning the lexicons and lenses of others, not with disdain, but with decorum. Granting them the very edges of definition that stark relief supplies. The mind and the heart, are separate, but one. And it is thoughts, that beget feelings, and feelings, that beget thoughts. There is a reality beyond them both, and that is where they strive to reach

And can. And will. And do