All these tiny flames, lonely, heartbroken, singing softly to themselves, speaking into brick walls just to listen to the sound of words bouncing back, calling out in the darkness like lost lambs, crying out for a sign, clambering up to peak over the edge, to fall back to the ground, dust themselves off, start over.
They've found something to gather round, invincible, expensive, crushing weight, the shame, guilt, rapturous tortures, this holy place to shelve all sin, an explanation, a diversion, lock your eyes up tight child, don't let yourself look that way.
Others, they don't deserve it, they didn't work for it, their dreams are not sacred, their thought is unworthy, they have a place, they should stay in their place, they should dance round their tiny flame, be happy with their little space, glad, allowed, contrivance, vicarious, necessity, more....
Hopeless are the dark eyed dreamers. Locked in. Bereft. Passing cancers on to their children, rotten, reeking tumors. Children don't know any better. They'll feed on anything. All the better that repression feeds upon itself. Bottle it all up. Every drop of humanity. Capture it. Seal it up. Sit there vacant as it festers as it spoils and boils and one day cascades up bursts through devastation consuming destroyed
Rage is the light which catalyzes change. Rage is the flame. Let it set fire to all that has decayed. Ancient, withered. Let it free us. Let it cut the cords, the shackles, may it sound the chord of the freed. The untethered truths are so abundant, so myriad, so convoluted and confusing. Exploration is innate to the spirit of man. It mustn’t ever be contained. It can never be defied. Not for too long. Dust myself off.
Scientific principles hold no meaning without philosophic insights behind them. Men are not machines. Never born to serve. Borne to live, to breathe in mountain air, the sundered surf. Mount the trials and tribulations of mighty, savage warriors, bathe in the decadent lusts and riches of sultans, flounder amongst the filth of ne'er do wells and grifters.
We are all rushing headlong towards the void. There is no escape, no reprieve, no quarter, no second chances. That terrible black maw, an infinity of darkness, oblivion. It beckons, it calls us closer with every passing moment, hungry for the vitality that still runs through our blood, even if it has departed from our spirit.
I won't lie. Sometimes it feels enticing. There are still days, those days, when I would like to peel back that veil and dive headlong into the depths. Feel the pure serene bliss of nothingness. Not yet. Be patient. There will be plenty of time for nothingness. In the end.
