Walking, walking
Running, running
Moving, moving
Eventually we reach a Point
It is an Important Event
that we use to mark how far we have come
A Milestone
When born
A baby has reflexes
Things it does without
realising
Then bit by bit
it learns to master its body
It raises its head
It follows movement with its eyes
It recognises its name
It brings its hands to its mouth
Then the baby starts rolling
Accidentally at first
Soon it can roll voluntarily
Soon the baby sits on its own
Not long after, stands and cruises
Crawls, bottom shuffles, bear walks
Walks independently
By the time it is three
It is learning to run
By the time it is four or five
It is learning to jump and skip
Milestones
Infant
Toddler
Child
Teenager
Youth
Adult
Older adult
Milestones of a human's life
And in our quiet walk
Daily with our Lord
again we put up the stones
that remember.
Rebirth
Water soaking
Fire drenching
Hearing, running
Closely
Thus far have we come
We look back and can see
The milestones shining
our victory
The red glowing
with the grace
that carried us over pits
traps and troubles
Until the next be laid
Set down upon the path
We walk led with the Lamp
that lights the way before our feet
30 June, 2010
27 June, 2010
and as in uffish thought...
What I was writing has accidentally been deleted. I pressed the mouse button one too many times. But perhaps it is better this way. For I spoke of nidotia and mythoti, explothrout of videmovida or ecoleurotions and wishodrams. And these things are beyond words - not for consumption until such a time as they are deemed ready. So with a hey, nonny nonny, I will just womit; wordspill upon here in the meantime. See what happens.
When will the shadows be cleansed?
By hopeless tide of wishless dread?
Who will make shudder the wind blown chime what will shake the hidden time?
Ha! Thou hast not heard!
And thou knowest not the things of which have been spoken!
Sit a while and hearken unto me, and I will tell thee of mighty deeds. Thy troubles cannot be solved by my hand, but unto thee my wisdom may I impart.
When a hero doth travel far, by and by his companion shall be meet.
A companion may not be worthy of a name, for he is hidden in the shadow of a mane.
What mane? I speak not of lions, my friend, but of other things of which there is not any word in any tongue that may describe it.
A challenge shall be given forth, that the hero must surely overcome or perish in its sight.
His companion in all likelihood shall trouble the hero's challenge and complicate his quest.
There shall be betrayal and intrigue, thwarting and scheming. Of these are there many variants.
Shall there be romance? Shall there be friendship? Unless the hero be unreal, relationships must tangle, tackle and conquer.
Patience is a virtue to many, but to wait over time, shall require thee a price. And the price may be too high to pay.
Better yet, take thy manuscript and hide it beneath thy bed or amidst the rubbish. Nay, better yet, take thee thy writing and here must thou burn it. For it is better for it to never see the light of day.
Wilt thou proclaim thy righteousness and thy power over the pen? But humble thyself and behave wisely, and a thing shall come at opportune time to steal the moonlight from the den.
Replace the cap. There, thou art. Let the sun shine forth in all its glory. Never mind, never mind.
What? Wast years of thy work? Ha! It is good.
Laugh. It is gone. Breathe the fresh air.
Now go thou forth and renew it. Create it, mould it, shape it.
Let it become. That is what thy imagination is for, is it not?
Then in the uffish stillness hear, the whispered breath of slippered year.
There. See how thou art skilled?
What? That Doctor? That raggedy man?
Nay, nay, my friend. Again, I say nay. He is fictitious; felicitous though he may seem. A dangerous notion, if ever there were any.
Blue box?
Yes, in the past. I saw it. Of course. I met him. A delightful fellow.
Because he is! My dear fellow, just because he chooses one in billions, doth not mean he shall take even the slightest notice of thee. Therefore he is fictitious, for in reality, he can never be, for he erased himself out of time and mind.
What art thou to thy fellows?
Unique? Surely. In time thou shalt see and understand.
The former is no more. The new is come.
You have seen it? Nay, thou hast not truly seen.
Come and I shall show it thee.
Now you see? Canst thou now understand my speech?
Yes, yes, bigger on the inside. Hurry on, we have places to go, things to see and an awful lot of running to do.
Yes, that was Jenny's line.
Accent? Well, I adopted it for you - thee, rather. See? Ha! I've been waiting for thee - you, all this time, so that we can get out of here.
Yes, yes, the key, the key! Honestly, you must be blind to have missed it, but then, humans on a whole are rather blind little creatures. They grope about in the dark and try to change the universe, but succeed in only making ripples. Little ripples. But one day that will change. So much potential, you lot.
Are you coming? Then hurry up and get a move on! Unless you'd rather be blown to smithereens. Come along!
Didn't I mention the hidden time before? Come on, you can't be that slow. Time machine. Yes! It's a time machine.
You are coming now, right? Good. Then let's gooooooooooo!
Imagine how God must see us. Puny little specks of dust, rolling in more dust.
When will the shadows be cleansed?
By hopeless tide of wishless dread?
Who will make shudder the wind blown chime what will shake the hidden time?
Ha! Thou hast not heard!
And thou knowest not the things of which have been spoken!
Sit a while and hearken unto me, and I will tell thee of mighty deeds. Thy troubles cannot be solved by my hand, but unto thee my wisdom may I impart.
When a hero doth travel far, by and by his companion shall be meet.
A companion may not be worthy of a name, for he is hidden in the shadow of a mane.
What mane? I speak not of lions, my friend, but of other things of which there is not any word in any tongue that may describe it.
A challenge shall be given forth, that the hero must surely overcome or perish in its sight.
His companion in all likelihood shall trouble the hero's challenge and complicate his quest.
There shall be betrayal and intrigue, thwarting and scheming. Of these are there many variants.
Shall there be romance? Shall there be friendship? Unless the hero be unreal, relationships must tangle, tackle and conquer.
Patience is a virtue to many, but to wait over time, shall require thee a price. And the price may be too high to pay.
Better yet, take thy manuscript and hide it beneath thy bed or amidst the rubbish. Nay, better yet, take thee thy writing and here must thou burn it. For it is better for it to never see the light of day.
Wilt thou proclaim thy righteousness and thy power over the pen? But humble thyself and behave wisely, and a thing shall come at opportune time to steal the moonlight from the den.
Replace the cap. There, thou art. Let the sun shine forth in all its glory. Never mind, never mind.
What? Wast years of thy work? Ha! It is good.
Laugh. It is gone. Breathe the fresh air.
Now go thou forth and renew it. Create it, mould it, shape it.
Let it become. That is what thy imagination is for, is it not?
Then in the uffish stillness hear, the whispered breath of slippered year.
There. See how thou art skilled?
What? That Doctor? That raggedy man?
Nay, nay, my friend. Again, I say nay. He is fictitious; felicitous though he may seem. A dangerous notion, if ever there were any.
Blue box?
Yes, in the past. I saw it. Of course. I met him. A delightful fellow.
Because he is! My dear fellow, just because he chooses one in billions, doth not mean he shall take even the slightest notice of thee. Therefore he is fictitious, for in reality, he can never be, for he erased himself out of time and mind.
What art thou to thy fellows?
Unique? Surely. In time thou shalt see and understand.
The former is no more. The new is come.
You have seen it? Nay, thou hast not truly seen.
Come and I shall show it thee.
Now you see? Canst thou now understand my speech?
Yes, yes, bigger on the inside. Hurry on, we have places to go, things to see and an awful lot of running to do.
Yes, that was Jenny's line.
Accent? Well, I adopted it for you - thee, rather. See? Ha! I've been waiting for thee - you, all this time, so that we can get out of here.
Yes, yes, the key, the key! Honestly, you must be blind to have missed it, but then, humans on a whole are rather blind little creatures. They grope about in the dark and try to change the universe, but succeed in only making ripples. Little ripples. But one day that will change. So much potential, you lot.
Are you coming? Then hurry up and get a move on! Unless you'd rather be blown to smithereens. Come along!
Didn't I mention the hidden time before? Come on, you can't be that slow. Time machine. Yes! It's a time machine.
You are coming now, right? Good. Then let's gooooooooooo!
Imagine how God must see us. Puny little specks of dust, rolling in more dust.
20 June, 2010
hobart
misty morning
fog on boring
down the river bend
cloud on ground
paths icy bound
skitter those walking
little lights across the sight
of stretching blue snake light
snap a picture
find it shaky
out comes twirling wakey.
fog on boring
down the river bend
cloud on ground
paths icy bound
skitter those walking
little lights across the sight
of stretching blue snake light
snap a picture
find it shaky
out comes twirling wakey.
10 June, 2010
scribble
Merrily merrily do thy homework
Srunchily, bunchily throw it out the window
I can't be bothered. Really can't. So here I am. Avoiding otorrhea, the purulent meanings thereof and associated ear infections. Too complicated. A powerpoint presentation? What for? It's not like anyone is going to want to keep it. Just chuck it out the window.
At the same time, lively curricula of the vitae ought to be completed. I do not wish to resume writing the resume. It is rackety. Neither do I wish to be bothered learning how to write cover letters, completing forms relating to key selection criteria... and preparing for mock interviews. I mean, who does?
The necessity and imperative given to be professional leaves some things to be desired. At least it's a game whose rules are relatively well-known. To those already playing the game, anyway.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, everything is due tomorrow. Be kind to me, time and turn back that I might complete all this without being late, still have time to sleep and have fully prepared for what the next day shall bring.
It irks me, a semi-perfectionist to do work and not have done it properly. all things must be completed to the best of my ability or I become a grumpy-raging bear with red eyes and black bags beneath. However, so fed up am I that I am contemplating deliberate sabotage to my career - which would not be a good idea. It is advisable to still be able to get a job after coming out of uni. So on with the work. Let's be about it people.
Gold and treasure. Under piles of useless diamond-hard dried sludge. Get digging. You might find the good stuff in a million years and billions of digging utensils later.
Srunchily, bunchily throw it out the window
I can't be bothered. Really can't. So here I am. Avoiding otorrhea, the purulent meanings thereof and associated ear infections. Too complicated. A powerpoint presentation? What for? It's not like anyone is going to want to keep it. Just chuck it out the window.
At the same time, lively curricula of the vitae ought to be completed. I do not wish to resume writing the resume. It is rackety. Neither do I wish to be bothered learning how to write cover letters, completing forms relating to key selection criteria... and preparing for mock interviews. I mean, who does?
The necessity and imperative given to be professional leaves some things to be desired. At least it's a game whose rules are relatively well-known. To those already playing the game, anyway.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, everything is due tomorrow. Be kind to me, time and turn back that I might complete all this without being late, still have time to sleep and have fully prepared for what the next day shall bring.
It irks me, a semi-perfectionist to do work and not have done it properly. all things must be completed to the best of my ability or I become a grumpy-raging bear with red eyes and black bags beneath. However, so fed up am I that I am contemplating deliberate sabotage to my career - which would not be a good idea. It is advisable to still be able to get a job after coming out of uni. So on with the work. Let's be about it people.
Gold and treasure. Under piles of useless diamond-hard dried sludge. Get digging. You might find the good stuff in a million years and billions of digging utensils later.
07 June, 2010
Just 3 more hours
Along the back, the trays rattle-thumped, causing each and every item to jump in time to the bumps in the road. Nothing else could be heard. The smell of rust, dust, old sweat and burnt rubber filled the cabin, amidst the degrading of old burger wrappers and forgotten sandwiches. Outside, the baked road gave rise to little hallucinogenic pools of water and advertised its ability to fry an egg to a crisp.
When travelling a long road with no stops but for the rare tin outhouse that was truly a hole in the ground with no water for washing hands, one had to be prepared to rough it. Accordingly, a folding spade, just for that occasion hid beneath the seat. Waiting.
The vehicle belched, groaned and skittered to a halt at the roadside. Already, the spade had been yanked from its hidden position and the driver was running toward the thickest bush he could see. Unseen, a bruised body with well tousled hair, muttered language his grandmother would have washed his mouth out with soap for. Gritting his teeth, he tumble-fell out of the truck. He got up off the burning bitumen in a hurry. Not the best ride he'd ever picked. Taking a moment to scan the wild countryside and note where the driver was grunting to himself, the man stretched, trying to get his bearings. By his estimation, they would reach the civilised world again within 3 hours. Three more hours of torture.
Well, he could bear it, he supposed. Three more hours and he'd be back. Moe sure would be surprised to see him back again so soon.
The crackle of dry grass and twigs alerted him to the returning driver. Back to his hiding place beneath the stuffy tarp. Just 3 more hours.
Sighing and hitching his pants up more comfortably, the large truck driver smiled at a job well done. Now he could complete the run. Where was that other packet of chips?
Chips and coke now within easy reach, the driver settled himself back into his comfy, padded seat. Back to work. If he was quick, he'd get home in time for the missus to have just laid dinner on the table, still steaming hot.
With a gurgly rattle, the truck choked back to life and scrunched back off the road's edge. In the back, the man half-suffocating in the heat, continued to mutter under his breath every time they went over an especially large bump or pot-hole. Just 3 more hours. Please God, let it be quick.
When travelling a long road with no stops but for the rare tin outhouse that was truly a hole in the ground with no water for washing hands, one had to be prepared to rough it. Accordingly, a folding spade, just for that occasion hid beneath the seat. Waiting.
The vehicle belched, groaned and skittered to a halt at the roadside. Already, the spade had been yanked from its hidden position and the driver was running toward the thickest bush he could see. Unseen, a bruised body with well tousled hair, muttered language his grandmother would have washed his mouth out with soap for. Gritting his teeth, he tumble-fell out of the truck. He got up off the burning bitumen in a hurry. Not the best ride he'd ever picked. Taking a moment to scan the wild countryside and note where the driver was grunting to himself, the man stretched, trying to get his bearings. By his estimation, they would reach the civilised world again within 3 hours. Three more hours of torture.
Well, he could bear it, he supposed. Three more hours and he'd be back. Moe sure would be surprised to see him back again so soon.
The crackle of dry grass and twigs alerted him to the returning driver. Back to his hiding place beneath the stuffy tarp. Just 3 more hours.
Sighing and hitching his pants up more comfortably, the large truck driver smiled at a job well done. Now he could complete the run. Where was that other packet of chips?
Chips and coke now within easy reach, the driver settled himself back into his comfy, padded seat. Back to work. If he was quick, he'd get home in time for the missus to have just laid dinner on the table, still steaming hot.
With a gurgly rattle, the truck choked back to life and scrunched back off the road's edge. In the back, the man half-suffocating in the heat, continued to mutter under his breath every time they went over an especially large bump or pot-hole. Just 3 more hours. Please God, let it be quick.
05 June, 2010
darkness
(Please note, before you read this, that this is being written at a low point in my life)
Vanity of vanities, all things are vanity. They grow and die, they live and fade. All things are done in vain. From dust they come and to dust they return. Wherein then is the purpose of life? From whence can the meaning of life be found?
All were made for a reason. All were made for a mission. All perform some sort of service, provide a form of influence, shape all that occurs around us in minute ways. But. What if you cannot find your Dream? Your life's purpose? What if you have waited all your life for something to happen, something that tells you that 'this is it', but it never comes? All the while the colours are fading, the pain is growing and all you know is that the countdown has begun... and still. Still the Big Dream you were born with will not reveal itself. It will not even give you a little peek at what it has to offer and all the while the seconds tick by. Time is running out.
What is the point in studying, getting a job, going to work? Why bother? Why trouble yourself watching tv, gardening, playing sport, doing what things you love? For what reason? Is there a reason? They are purposeless, meaningless activities one performs; for the world cries, "Conform! Conform!" at the same time contradicting itself and demanding you achieve its ideal: "Be yourself. Be individual. Be unique. Be special." Yet if you do not conform, they come. They beat you and bind you, they squish you and confine you. They come and do the nameless 'thing' - what you most dread. All because you would not conform. It is not enough to just hurt you. No. They must wound you and kill you over and over and over and over again. Just because you would not conform. Because you refused to be like them, talk like them, look like them, think like them... All that you love best in this world, all that you hold dear - taken and destroyed. There is no such thing as being allowed to be an individual. You are special, but you are oppressed and the real you must stay hidden, protected at all costs. See what they have done?
A stab in the chest. Not enough. They repeat it and this time they twist the knife and push it up and down, slicing up through the rib cage to the neck; and down through the abdomen to the pelvis. OR instead and this one is more painful than the previous: they take what looks like a cross between a grapnel hook, a whisk and the blades of a blender and force it into your wound. There is a whirring and your insides - all your organs are mushed to pate. It is for this reason I hate, cannot eat or look at pate. Organ mush. How palatable. How enjoyable. Would you like some on your crackers with cheese? Pate. Hush. Hear the sound? They have found another victim.
Quickly. Quietly. Silently. Walk away. Hide yourself from the light of day. Let no man see or find you. All are enemies. None can be trusted. It may be someone that you thought was a friend will hold you down, whilst the other punches. They wear smiles on their faces and greet with with sweet innocence. Yet behind the masks they rage and speak and plot and plan and scheme. True kindness, with no motive, is so rare that one might say it is extinct.
One must be strong. One must never fall, never make a mistake. Never show a fault. To stumble is to fall and then the dog pack will get you. The dog pack love this game. They tease and play, but their aim? Their aim is to rip you to shreds. You are not like them and therefore must die. Anything that is weak (or shows weakness and is therefore weak) is fair game. Game to be hunted down. That is unless you excel in escape. Prove to them you are stronger, smarter and wiser than they. Show them your teeth, roar more loudly and fiercely than the whole pack put together. You must show them you are king. Eat or be eaten.
"Survival of the fittest," they love to say. No. It is not survival of the fittest. It is "massacre of the weakest". That is the game. How it must be played. Be strong or die. Eat or be eaten. Join the massacre or be massacred.
One alone is easily broken. You need people to help watch your back, but don't keep your back turned for long. It is not safe. I will say it again. It is not safe. Don't keep your back turned for more than a second. Oh, play their game and let them think that they have your trust, when in truth you trust nobody. Unless you are alone. The only thing, the only person you can ever ever trust is God. He is infallible and perfect. Knowing all things before they come to pass, He is the only lifeline you have in this dark world. The only one that can guide your steps, when one false move will have you fall and ripped to shreds. Trust His plan.
If you trust nobody and not even God. There is no one left to trust. Yourself? Ha! That is laughable. Yourself. Who would dare trust theirselves? Have you seen yourself and your selfish, petty little ways? Have you seen your thoughts, your bumbling and bungling, and your stupid, incomplete plans? Your tendency to cause chaos and all your silly little mistake that add up to more than you realised? Before you know it, you're in debt and drowning. How then can you trust yourself with even the smallest deed? You think that you have factored everything in, but you haven't. You think that you have accounted for every variable in the world, but you haven't, cannot. It is not possible. That is why, unless there is a God, it is better to die in whatever way seems best to you. There is no point and life is purposeless.
The darkness it creeps and poisons. Everything is tainted. The air, the sky, the ground, the birds, the trees, the grass, the creeping things, the fish, the people. All are tainted, all are cursed. Why trouble oneself with trying achieve anything upon this dying earth? If all is dying, isn't it just easier to die sooner rather than later and save yourself some suffering. Only, that's not the point. But then, what is?
Who cares about you? Your loved ones? You? Ha! And HA! again. You say you care about yourself and yet you don't. You don't do what you ought, you don't look after yourself or your beloved(s) as you ought. Sure you care about yourself, when you neglect the little things, left undone because 'there is not enough time'. You care only about your 'survival'. As long as you 'survive' everything will be all right.
How about your loved ones? Your friends? Your family? They have problems of their own. They have their own lives to live. Their own little 'worlds' to take care of. Their 'survival' to ensure. You sure they really care about you? Only to lean on you, step on you, use you when it's convenient, otherwise they just leave and forget about you or kill you if you're inconvenient. But that's life. That's what we tell ourselves. In reality, all we are doing is looking for a foothold or a handhold. Anything to hold onto and pull ourselves up the ranks, so that we can look back down and say, 'what a good boy/girl am I'. They 'care' about you, because you are a necessity, just as you 'care' and 'love' them, because you need them to 'survive'.
Look what we have come to. You. Alone in this world of billions. In the loneliest place anyone can be found. Lost amongst a crowd. You. Selfish little you. One selfish person amongst billions of equally or more ferociously selfish others. Each one vying for the title of 'king survivor'. Ha. And HA! again. Massacre of the weakest. Conform or be pulled down and trampled by the masses.
All things were made for laughter. All things were made for enjoyment. That is until they became tainted and perverted. Twisted things for twisted minds. What goes in must come out and if what comes out is tainted - how dark is the inside? Therefore laugh at everything. For laughter helps to chase fear away. Enjoy every moment of every day and want for nothing. "Eat and drink, for tomorrow we die." No. I rather say, eat and drink, but be wary and wise. You may yet avoid disaster and live to see another day.
Fear. Fear is something you must not do, for it brings the nameless things to life. If you have no fear and are not afraid, well then and good. Fear brings what was not, the little things you see out the corner of your eye, but disregard because we think they are improbable - to life. To fear them, brings the monsters out from that little unseen corner to before your very eyes... and then you're in trouble. Once you see them, all the more you fear them and the more you fear them, the more 'alive' they become. Fear gives them strength, therefore you. Must. Not. Be. Afraid. See them, by all means, but ignore them and cast them off as insignificant ramblings of an air current. You must not look directly at them. You must not scrutinise them. Above all, you must not fear them or they will come and not only destroy you, but all that you have lived, touched and breathed upon. This is what the monsters of the fearsome dark do. This is what they are. Fear finds them, brings them, feeds them. Only truth, faith, hope and the Name above all Names can dispel them. Fear not, neither be afraid, but be strong and of good courage. Perfect love - His perfect love, casts out all fear. Seek the Highest Authority and you'll know what I mean.
Do small things amuse small minds? But I tell you, nothing amuses nor interests large minds. Why? Because they are so big, they can't tell you where their brain ends and the noxious fart begins. Airheads they are and be. Therefore laugh. What is there to fear? They can only kill you and surely you've been there before.
Be amused by everything. Be thankful for everything. In everything you do, whether living or dying, waking or sleeping, working or resting, playing or stressing, NEVER LET GO. Never let go? Of what? Your life line. What else? For while there is hope, no matter how small, grab it, hold onto it and never let go. For me, it is God. He is my lifeline. My one and only hope that my existence has a meaning and has a purpose. The little dot of light at the end of the tunnel. Never let go.
So, while I have no further motivation; still, I live on. When all energy is drained and the gas tanks are empty; still, I go on. When all other hearts fail and all the lights go out; still, I hope. In peace, in love, in faith, in joy, in hope, in truth. The reason? For the hope that I have a reason and a purpose, that I will make somebody's life worth while. Time is running out and the countdown counts every second gone. Still...
Never let go.
Of Jesus.
Vanity of vanities, all things are vanity. They grow and die, they live and fade. All things are done in vain. From dust they come and to dust they return. Wherein then is the purpose of life? From whence can the meaning of life be found?
All were made for a reason. All were made for a mission. All perform some sort of service, provide a form of influence, shape all that occurs around us in minute ways. But. What if you cannot find your Dream? Your life's purpose? What if you have waited all your life for something to happen, something that tells you that 'this is it', but it never comes? All the while the colours are fading, the pain is growing and all you know is that the countdown has begun... and still. Still the Big Dream you were born with will not reveal itself. It will not even give you a little peek at what it has to offer and all the while the seconds tick by. Time is running out.
What is the point in studying, getting a job, going to work? Why bother? Why trouble yourself watching tv, gardening, playing sport, doing what things you love? For what reason? Is there a reason? They are purposeless, meaningless activities one performs; for the world cries, "Conform! Conform!" at the same time contradicting itself and demanding you achieve its ideal: "Be yourself. Be individual. Be unique. Be special." Yet if you do not conform, they come. They beat you and bind you, they squish you and confine you. They come and do the nameless 'thing' - what you most dread. All because you would not conform. It is not enough to just hurt you. No. They must wound you and kill you over and over and over and over again. Just because you would not conform. Because you refused to be like them, talk like them, look like them, think like them... All that you love best in this world, all that you hold dear - taken and destroyed. There is no such thing as being allowed to be an individual. You are special, but you are oppressed and the real you must stay hidden, protected at all costs. See what they have done?
A stab in the chest. Not enough. They repeat it and this time they twist the knife and push it up and down, slicing up through the rib cage to the neck; and down through the abdomen to the pelvis. OR instead and this one is more painful than the previous: they take what looks like a cross between a grapnel hook, a whisk and the blades of a blender and force it into your wound. There is a whirring and your insides - all your organs are mushed to pate. It is for this reason I hate, cannot eat or look at pate. Organ mush. How palatable. How enjoyable. Would you like some on your crackers with cheese? Pate. Hush. Hear the sound? They have found another victim.
Quickly. Quietly. Silently. Walk away. Hide yourself from the light of day. Let no man see or find you. All are enemies. None can be trusted. It may be someone that you thought was a friend will hold you down, whilst the other punches. They wear smiles on their faces and greet with with sweet innocence. Yet behind the masks they rage and speak and plot and plan and scheme. True kindness, with no motive, is so rare that one might say it is extinct.
One must be strong. One must never fall, never make a mistake. Never show a fault. To stumble is to fall and then the dog pack will get you. The dog pack love this game. They tease and play, but their aim? Their aim is to rip you to shreds. You are not like them and therefore must die. Anything that is weak (or shows weakness and is therefore weak) is fair game. Game to be hunted down. That is unless you excel in escape. Prove to them you are stronger, smarter and wiser than they. Show them your teeth, roar more loudly and fiercely than the whole pack put together. You must show them you are king. Eat or be eaten.
"Survival of the fittest," they love to say. No. It is not survival of the fittest. It is "massacre of the weakest". That is the game. How it must be played. Be strong or die. Eat or be eaten. Join the massacre or be massacred.
One alone is easily broken. You need people to help watch your back, but don't keep your back turned for long. It is not safe. I will say it again. It is not safe. Don't keep your back turned for more than a second. Oh, play their game and let them think that they have your trust, when in truth you trust nobody. Unless you are alone. The only thing, the only person you can ever ever trust is God. He is infallible and perfect. Knowing all things before they come to pass, He is the only lifeline you have in this dark world. The only one that can guide your steps, when one false move will have you fall and ripped to shreds. Trust His plan.
If you trust nobody and not even God. There is no one left to trust. Yourself? Ha! That is laughable. Yourself. Who would dare trust theirselves? Have you seen yourself and your selfish, petty little ways? Have you seen your thoughts, your bumbling and bungling, and your stupid, incomplete plans? Your tendency to cause chaos and all your silly little mistake that add up to more than you realised? Before you know it, you're in debt and drowning. How then can you trust yourself with even the smallest deed? You think that you have factored everything in, but you haven't. You think that you have accounted for every variable in the world, but you haven't, cannot. It is not possible. That is why, unless there is a God, it is better to die in whatever way seems best to you. There is no point and life is purposeless.
The darkness it creeps and poisons. Everything is tainted. The air, the sky, the ground, the birds, the trees, the grass, the creeping things, the fish, the people. All are tainted, all are cursed. Why trouble oneself with trying achieve anything upon this dying earth? If all is dying, isn't it just easier to die sooner rather than later and save yourself some suffering. Only, that's not the point. But then, what is?
Who cares about you? Your loved ones? You? Ha! And HA! again. You say you care about yourself and yet you don't. You don't do what you ought, you don't look after yourself or your beloved(s) as you ought. Sure you care about yourself, when you neglect the little things, left undone because 'there is not enough time'. You care only about your 'survival'. As long as you 'survive' everything will be all right.
How about your loved ones? Your friends? Your family? They have problems of their own. They have their own lives to live. Their own little 'worlds' to take care of. Their 'survival' to ensure. You sure they really care about you? Only to lean on you, step on you, use you when it's convenient, otherwise they just leave and forget about you or kill you if you're inconvenient. But that's life. That's what we tell ourselves. In reality, all we are doing is looking for a foothold or a handhold. Anything to hold onto and pull ourselves up the ranks, so that we can look back down and say, 'what a good boy/girl am I'. They 'care' about you, because you are a necessity, just as you 'care' and 'love' them, because you need them to 'survive'.
Look what we have come to. You. Alone in this world of billions. In the loneliest place anyone can be found. Lost amongst a crowd. You. Selfish little you. One selfish person amongst billions of equally or more ferociously selfish others. Each one vying for the title of 'king survivor'. Ha. And HA! again. Massacre of the weakest. Conform or be pulled down and trampled by the masses.
All things were made for laughter. All things were made for enjoyment. That is until they became tainted and perverted. Twisted things for twisted minds. What goes in must come out and if what comes out is tainted - how dark is the inside? Therefore laugh at everything. For laughter helps to chase fear away. Enjoy every moment of every day and want for nothing. "Eat and drink, for tomorrow we die." No. I rather say, eat and drink, but be wary and wise. You may yet avoid disaster and live to see another day.
Fear. Fear is something you must not do, for it brings the nameless things to life. If you have no fear and are not afraid, well then and good. Fear brings what was not, the little things you see out the corner of your eye, but disregard because we think they are improbable - to life. To fear them, brings the monsters out from that little unseen corner to before your very eyes... and then you're in trouble. Once you see them, all the more you fear them and the more you fear them, the more 'alive' they become. Fear gives them strength, therefore you. Must. Not. Be. Afraid. See them, by all means, but ignore them and cast them off as insignificant ramblings of an air current. You must not look directly at them. You must not scrutinise them. Above all, you must not fear them or they will come and not only destroy you, but all that you have lived, touched and breathed upon. This is what the monsters of the fearsome dark do. This is what they are. Fear finds them, brings them, feeds them. Only truth, faith, hope and the Name above all Names can dispel them. Fear not, neither be afraid, but be strong and of good courage. Perfect love - His perfect love, casts out all fear. Seek the Highest Authority and you'll know what I mean.
Do small things amuse small minds? But I tell you, nothing amuses nor interests large minds. Why? Because they are so big, they can't tell you where their brain ends and the noxious fart begins. Airheads they are and be. Therefore laugh. What is there to fear? They can only kill you and surely you've been there before.
Be amused by everything. Be thankful for everything. In everything you do, whether living or dying, waking or sleeping, working or resting, playing or stressing, NEVER LET GO. Never let go? Of what? Your life line. What else? For while there is hope, no matter how small, grab it, hold onto it and never let go. For me, it is God. He is my lifeline. My one and only hope that my existence has a meaning and has a purpose. The little dot of light at the end of the tunnel. Never let go.
So, while I have no further motivation; still, I live on. When all energy is drained and the gas tanks are empty; still, I go on. When all other hearts fail and all the lights go out; still, I hope. In peace, in love, in faith, in joy, in hope, in truth. The reason? For the hope that I have a reason and a purpose, that I will make somebody's life worth while. Time is running out and the countdown counts every second gone. Still...
Never let go.
Of Jesus.
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