The mountain top had begun to sink beneath me. Such is life in the land of the quickest sand. What more could you ask for, having been given it all? Would freedom cost half as much as it had cost in the beginning? No more land, no more space, no more time and yet we set out like tomorrow is yet to be determined. Tomorrow is the day it ends. Tomorrow is the day we pack our bags and walk headfirst into nothingness with a smile on our face and a yearning in our hearts for a better tomorrow.
What was to be has yet to begin and what has ended has yet to find its purpose. Bouncing along alone in a sea of questions, we cling to the only solid surface around us as a means to save ourselves, and in our struggle the weakest among us have been drowned in water we could all stand in if we only took a moment to breath.
What is anger? Where does it come from? Is hate the absence of love, or a possessive force looking for control. Looking for what it hopes is easy prey, feeding on despair and laughing in the face of fear. Deep within us is a switch that when flipped those around us would never be able to see us the same way. Some fear this switch, some freely flip it in hopes that a deal with the devil will lead to a world where god doesn’t exist.
To provoke a bear is to release upon yourself the fury of a primal instinct, what then would you do if it turned the other cheek? What then if it asked you what reason you had for such an action? “You’re a bear!” One might shout stunned anyone or anything could ask you for what reason you would need to take immediate aggressive action against the bear.
If the moon was full of little green men (aliens, not the toy army soldiers) and we tried to visit and they wouldn’t let us land, would we then be at war with the moon? Does the moon itself hold any issue with us or is it the inhabitants currently standing on the moon? It is a well known fact that if you send the little green men on the moon a fruit basket with a letter that asks for permission to land that it will be given with the warmest welcome one could come to expect in space.
If you haven’t noticed the ideas within my mind are a bit of an ominous goop that I tend to let dribble across the page in hopes to glean some understanding of my innerworkings. Therapy tends to be too expensive and friends stop listening after you’ve rambled one too many times. Pets don’t add anything meaningful to the conversation, and I can’t be trusted to make any meaningful progress without help.
Like a fog that settled thick upon a lake, I venture slowly into a mystery I may not ever solve but I can only hope to chronicle. A lone fog horn rings out, seemingly from everywhere but also nowhere. The water a sheet of glass, disturbed only by the ripples the small tug boat had pushed out as it forged its path across the dark night.
A flicker of light pops on the deck of the boat, a puff of smoke several seconds later. The ships captain, a tall pudgy man of about 30, stepped out from under the overhang of the vessel, looking out the back at the white frothy path from the motor that extended until it didn’t. He took another puff before turning to the starboard side and letting out a smoky sigh. He couldn’t see more than 100 feet but it was out there. Hunting him.
Pulling the compass from his jacket pocket he eyed it curiously before looking at the wind marker he had attached to the malfunctioning antenna. It wasn’t moving, his eyes darted to the water near his ship. It was black nothingness, but he could hear the water lapping against the ship. The sound tricked him into seeing movement that he knew he couldn’t see and he looked back at the back. The white path of foam continued out from his ships motor in the direction he had come from.
He walked toward the cabin and the door groaned, deep and metallic, and as he closed he he grabbed the radio handheld instinctually. Pausing for a moment looking at it recognizing he knew it wasn’t gonna work he smirked and clicked it live to say “Are ya still broke?” And then tilted his head toward the speaker in an exaggerated way, before saying “thought so” and threw the handset at the dock where it clattered as it missed the mark.
Time has begun to pass me by, and I’m grasping at the ground as it slips out from under me. “I wanna to be in charge!” I scream at the top of my lungs to the sky above me and no one around me to care. “I wanna matter!” I shout to the gods that don’t exist in a palace we only dream exists and yet we fantasize living there ourselves. Would the marble seats not be uncomfortable? Would the ground made of clouds and the birds chirping be replaced with voices desperate from below. Prayers falling on a city no one lives in.
Has there ever been inhabitants in the golden gated community of the gods? Did they create the existence we suffer through as a lark and forget about us as they continue to ramble on about themselves? If the billionaires should pay their fair share, why shouldn’t god support us like the dad that left for cigarettes and never came back. He owes us back pay for child-support he missed. He owes us a Christmas where cancer wasn’t in our stocking and corporate greedy and monopolized fraud aren’t served for dinner.
Where will we be in 100 years, will we be stuck talking ourselves in circles to death while the game gets played around us. It seems to me we know the problems, and only talking about the solutions.
Until we are as quick as the sand, the mountains that raised us will return to the ocean and humanity will extinguish itself like a candle smothered under the weight of it’s own melted wax.
