Sometimes a personal messsage in your messenger space can't suffice the consequent thoughts that plague your pea sized brain (pea size: refer to the giant of Jack and the Beanstalk, diplomatically avoiding any "slap on the face" comments to the human race).
I want to write and the urge is consuming, unfortunately, I can't write without another piece of paper. The kind with an ideal on it and the man who wished it to be the purpose of every other man. The kind that empowers one and indebts the other. The kind that materialises for the spendthrift and disappears in an ancient obsolete form of security, watched closely by the eyes of those who probably need it the most.
If I want to write I want to write, why am I obligated to the the ill represented fools of the world? Why do I need to be apporved by suicidal robots, wading through life's holy waters like a boat without sails....relying on Poseidon and showing no trust in Zephyr....
As frustrating as this is, I take recourse in one lone thought...its begun...the angst is lost in a pool of silvery fluid. It has now evolved into a ghost...waiting for the white light carved in the corner of his soul....
If there is a possibility that I am committing myself to a thought that I despised my whole tenure on this earth...I would rid the earth of my flesh and this instrument would have faded into the nether regions of Gaia...
But, this is not a commitment for the weak hearted...And I know my strength. It might take me far off into the horizon making it real and not a daunting mission (reminds me of the triangle somehow)
Necessities are the consequence of survival instincts....so it is said...I rely on those same instincts to comprehend my necessity. Not to be heard or published or read about or mentioned in a "soon to be outdated" text. My necessity ... my existence rests solely on one tear or smile from my perfecting soul when the pain is lost and replaced with life's adulterated frivolities.
I want to write and the urge is consuming, unfortunately, I can't write without another piece of paper. The kind with an ideal on it and the man who wished it to be the purpose of every other man. The kind that empowers one and indebts the other. The kind that materialises for the spendthrift and disappears in an ancient obsolete form of security, watched closely by the eyes of those who probably need it the most.
If I want to write I want to write, why am I obligated to the the ill represented fools of the world? Why do I need to be apporved by suicidal robots, wading through life's holy waters like a boat without sails....relying on Poseidon and showing no trust in Zephyr....
As frustrating as this is, I take recourse in one lone thought...its begun...the angst is lost in a pool of silvery fluid. It has now evolved into a ghost...waiting for the white light carved in the corner of his soul....
If there is a possibility that I am committing myself to a thought that I despised my whole tenure on this earth...I would rid the earth of my flesh and this instrument would have faded into the nether regions of Gaia...
But, this is not a commitment for the weak hearted...And I know my strength. It might take me far off into the horizon making it real and not a daunting mission (reminds me of the triangle somehow)
Necessities are the consequence of survival instincts....so it is said...I rely on those same instincts to comprehend my necessity. Not to be heard or published or read about or mentioned in a "soon to be outdated" text. My necessity ... my existence rests solely on one tear or smile from my perfecting soul when the pain is lost and replaced with life's adulterated frivolities.
(posted originally Sept 2006)
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