When you remove the barbed breast plate with its serrated edges underneath you find the beating heart of a human being. One who has touched on many emotions and even considered love. One who cares so much for the well-being of everything breathing, that even a rodent struggling to live, shriveled skin clung to its ribs in hunger makes tears ignite and explode out of my eyes in thunder.
The madness, the pathetic barriers we have built over our lives and our inept ability to communicate how we feel with the right people, and our disabled function of communicating everything to the wrong people, has lead to the building of a fortress. One with walls extending so high, that when we stand guard at the top, bellowing down at anyone who even wishes to gaze upon our doors the words are always course and hard.
"You, down there, what do you want?"
Their response, usually sweet, and normal. Something along the lines of: "I'd like to get to know you, you seem interesting." But alas, in the haze of the communication and the distance of their barriers, their words come out in the hieroglyphics of "Fuck you" and "Fuck Off."
And then the archers align, the arrows begin raining, the scene is full of blood and chaos, and the man on the castle, the drinker of blood is smiling. He is the true vampire, the one that is exempt from fiction. A true feeder on human emotions and feelings.
"I've come to you, to confess my love" Those were the words that he meant to release, but instead out come nothing. He tried to speak again, but his mind held him captive and like a detainee of torture it began to do its worse.
"you are nothing, you will never be nothing."
Where did this all come from, was i not loved as a child, why such evil words. I have beautiful friends, and what have they done for me? Everything.
To her the silence began to creep into her skin like poison. Her confession of love riddled her mind like a game show host advertising a weight lost product. Her mind took captive of her, and suddenly she felt betrayed.
"Why do i love someone that doesn't love me? Why do i give myself daily, only to be squashed by this, this seductive yet thieving body. Why can't the right guys ever find me"
Finally one of them makes a move, and the other already awaiting their movement, predicting 10 steps ahead to get that checkmate. She stands in defense.
Anything uttered could be loving and caring, but already it is too late, the beautiful beings and their romantic feelings, and his ability to bottle his emotions inside is his greatest greed.
But something was different..
"not this time" a voice inside him said.
Instead of words, tears came streaming out of his eyes, and suddenly she no longer held the knife to his heart, but began using it to cut the umbilical cord that was wrapped around his neck.
This man, this creature had finally advanced past his primitive barriers, had finally removed his shell and stood up to face the world as he.
In chemical embrace, we lay, sucking the eyes of passion into our bodies, and examining every crevice that formed the clay of the human body. We were making love, and under this spell even the defects of another individual become their greatest features. This imperfect figure, when alone on its own, suddenly becomes a work of master piece, an artistic rendition of unity, of one.
"Equality" her words correct my thoughts, as a connected form we are read like books, but transmitted as easily as television..
i think the world deserves to hear an echo and a couple people would like to see you sing, but selfishly the prophet stands holding his emotions in a jar, and only allow little cracks of light to seep.
"but no more" she reminds me.
"get some sleep." the walls are once again up. Although he will never truly be a mind closed from understanding and learning energy, he likes to pretend that he can sleep.
I just want to listen to music through the headphones of the globe, I'll mix their screams with the cries of laughter. I'll cross over from obese greed and drown it in tragedy. I'll take one shot to a building and ignore the millions of bombs we drop to compensate for our more expensive lives. I'll bask in the glory of being able to eat the African families weight, malnourished and all. I'll parade around in clothes I don't need, expelling exhaust. "everything i could say would feed into insignificance"
Welcome to my Journal. IGNORE GRAMMATICAL ERRORS, or become my Editor
I have finally found a place to store my excessive collection of garbage, formally known as my thoughts. I would like to start off with a sermon on my religion, 'Getting the Cards, is making the best of the hands that you are dealt' once again, formally addressed as Life is Good or for short, LiG. This philosophical lifestyle, not even a religion at all, maybe a spiritual belief, is built around the power of the individual to shape his/her own life. Accepting responsibility for actions, and living in an environment that is a product of oneself, rather than being a product of ones environment. It is not ego driven, though the egotist, the narcissist and simply the excessively proud, have taken this to the nth dimension, causing dementia to the practice and giving it a bad reputation. However, accepting responsibility for ones actions is a process of being aware that for the most part, when things are going great it is relative to the positive production produced by the individual..in other words. Karma. All to many times in my life, when things have been going down the drain I have watched as it was I, urinating all over the things in my life that were worth value. This lifestyle is not for everyone. Nor is it uniquely built for one. There is no one God, but there is for me a recognition of the many forces with more power than my own self. This helps me to stray from my own ego, to recognize that i am mortal, I will die and only memories, pictures, writings and recordings will hold onto my image...but for how long before they too decay. The only thing that is permanent is darkness and so I live day to day, aiming to grow uncomfortable Inside the Sun, so that I may be fortunate enough to feel cool hands wrap around me, and the silence of space swallow me, making me no more significant than a spec of dust in the desert.
Posted by Afflicted Wolf at 8:35 PM
I woke up this morning and stood out in the rain drinking chocolate milk. I watched three adolescent crows building up their wings and bravery while circling a tree. Every once in awhile losing their courage and touching a branch, than flying back out again. Their excitement was recognized even by my human ears that don't understand the language of birds. Their uncertainty and disbelief in something so beautiful and free such as flying, was understood by my own body, incapable of flight. At the moment when they finally took off from the proximity of their roost, i was reminded that I'm still circling mine, even when i know i can already fly.
Posted by Afflicted Wolf at 7:46 PM