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The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles.
Jack Kerouac, On the Road
I turn my heart towards the mad ones, those who reject the temptations of conformity and the allure of sameness. They venture into the wild and carve their own path. They walk into and embrace the darkness, without any direction home. They follow the burning light inside of them, their torch ablaze, illuminating the cave to new ways of being. 'Zombies, zombies everywhere!' they whisper in my ear with caution. Nothing terrifies them more than the 'cult of normal', they tell me. These humans, they say, are pre-programmed with a similar code, with identical thoughts…
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