It’s cliche to start off an idea with, “there are two kinds off people…” Whether corn or flour, Beatles or Stones, or night and day, we all have this insuperable comparison that weighs heavily on us as individuals. We claim to surpass the eye of judgement and treat each others as equals, but we know that idea fools no one except ourselves. We judge… impartially against a book by it’s cover. Through this hasty voracity, we are left on the world of black and white.
This applies to you, you know who you is, Kitty Kat, but dealing the world for what it is is completely different than from what it means. Your actions are louder than feelings, which are mute, but your actions were the only things will ever mean anything.
Classicists and Romantics. The difference between the two is that classicists rely on information, detail, intricate analysis on anything that may mean anything. Romantics rely on outwardly aesthetics, inspirational, intuitive aspects of ideas. Somehow, along the line of realization, we’ve forgotten that neither were ever enemies, but we’ve forgotten how to coincide. Its natural for us to pick sides, but both would go great lengths… simply to prove a point.
We are all savage beasts without fangs.