No one trusts anyone anymore. What a fucked up world this turned out to be. 
So close, and then goodbye forever
I had an idea for an entry as I lay in bed yesterday night. It was about a guy talking to another guy about the passing breeze. There could be a philosophical undertone but I don't remember now.
What I do remember is telling myself to get up and write the idea down, so that it forms as a nice story I could read when I wanted more ideas. But I got lazy and stayed in bed, telling myself that it should still be in my head when I wake because it's a great idea, and that I would get to writing it when I was awake.
I can't imagine how many times I've told myself that, and the many times I never got to writing anything down.
And so it dies - the idea, and the inspiration that might have followed.
But perhaps ideas never die, or at least their influence. They fade into the darkness of your consciousness, only to rise when your mind ripens. This piece of work I'm typing out now clearly stems from the lingering wisps of the story from last night.
So I guess it's like energy - displaced but never lost. From the inaction of last night comes the volatility of the moment, fingers frantically trying to catch up with my mind, the words disappearing faster than they can manifest, red spell-checking worms crawling across the page.
And so it is true for all things thought lost and nonreturnable. You may not know it, but my advice is to never stop searching, for when the mind is willing, the end is never far.
But take caution, dear traveler, for all who waits may not be rewarded their just desserts.
What I do remember is telling myself to get up and write the idea down, so that it forms as a nice story I could read when I wanted more ideas. But I got lazy and stayed in bed, telling myself that it should still be in my head when I wake because it's a great idea, and that I would get to writing it when I was awake.
I can't imagine how many times I've told myself that, and the many times I never got to writing anything down.
And so it dies - the idea, and the inspiration that might have followed.
But perhaps ideas never die, or at least their influence. They fade into the darkness of your consciousness, only to rise when your mind ripens. This piece of work I'm typing out now clearly stems from the lingering wisps of the story from last night.
So I guess it's like energy - displaced but never lost. From the inaction of last night comes the volatility of the moment, fingers frantically trying to catch up with my mind, the words disappearing faster than they can manifest, red spell-checking worms crawling across the page.
And so it is true for all things thought lost and nonreturnable. You may not know it, but my advice is to never stop searching, for when the mind is willing, the end is never far.
But take caution, dear traveler, for all who waits may not be rewarded their just desserts.
For the people
I remember the days. It was like they never left, residing in my heart with every beat.
The winds blew strong and resolute as they do now, rustling the treetops and chilling the night air. I looked out the window from the kitchen and down onto the empty street below hoping to see him.
But days passed and months followed, and despite knowing the answer all along I continued to look down, the wind my company and the empty streets below our midnight movie.
Young boys, now living the dreams of men, weighed under the expectations places upon our shoulders by the very people we swore to protect.
We were too young to have known what was in store. The world was ready for our vigor, but we were ill-trained and hardly humble.
That day we went our separate ways, each taken down the road by our differing absolution. We would never see each other again, not for the next thirty-four years.
When you first called me I couldn't believe it was you. I can still remember the ambitions we shared and the plans we made. Never would we have imagined this to happen.
We're two sides of a coin - no way similar but stuck to sharing the same fate. We will toss each other into the air, hoping the fall will one day knock the other side of the coin clean off.
All the tension, all the bloodshed, all the needless negotiations. We got a little over ourselves, and it's about time to call it quits.
The wind blew harsh and cold as I waited for your arrival down the walkway. It's been so long, but I know our meeting will be a short-lived.
Peace is made up by people like us so that we won't feel as guilty as we should be.
But we are, and it all boils down to whether the blood of our people are worth more than the money you keep for yourself.
The winds blew strong and resolute as they do now, rustling the treetops and chilling the night air. I looked out the window from the kitchen and down onto the empty street below hoping to see him.
But days passed and months followed, and despite knowing the answer all along I continued to look down, the wind my company and the empty streets below our midnight movie.
Young boys, now living the dreams of men, weighed under the expectations places upon our shoulders by the very people we swore to protect.
We were too young to have known what was in store. The world was ready for our vigor, but we were ill-trained and hardly humble.
That day we went our separate ways, each taken down the road by our differing absolution. We would never see each other again, not for the next thirty-four years.
When you first called me I couldn't believe it was you. I can still remember the ambitions we shared and the plans we made. Never would we have imagined this to happen.
We're two sides of a coin - no way similar but stuck to sharing the same fate. We will toss each other into the air, hoping the fall will one day knock the other side of the coin clean off.
All the tension, all the bloodshed, all the needless negotiations. We got a little over ourselves, and it's about time to call it quits.
The wind blew harsh and cold as I waited for your arrival down the walkway. It's been so long, but I know our meeting will be a short-lived.
Peace is made up by people like us so that we won't feel as guilty as we should be.
But we are, and it all boils down to whether the blood of our people are worth more than the money you keep for yourself.
