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Preceding this can only be perceived as a drawn out still from which flowed jumbled frauts of anger, None as such have traveled the counter stones which even I do not understand. What hell is this, that one may be brilliant and deranged...humble and demanding..caring yet cold. Whose cruel mind could understand would set two to one and leave the parts out. Set apart from all but the chosen few...to suffer. A wealth untold to lie hidden beyond death, perhaps until it can be fully understood, or is that itself wishful thinking? As the sling and arrows of life grow to meet the challenge so may the disease. The greatest of actors are never known, a life less fastidious is given to us. As is known to the normal people and the elders, there is no end to the levels of hate, depression, despair, loathing, and even love. They say you've reach bottom when suicide is life, but "they" are wrong. A breed of human far more tortured and bereft of hope is alive. A soul is disease, but nonetheless the core of our existence. Forgetfulness is a thief which can be eliminated. A memory is more the weapon as the brain, which makes it's own. A life is not a hostage to hold as a raving derelict to the cops. A fair played hand of poker is like an unlived life even if you win you only played for the reward. Depression is a VCR stuck on frame by frame. It will either drive you mad or you can appreciate the the picture and study it, even though the sound is gone, other thing can enhance the experience. A saying, an expression, a single thing, or a multitude combined could not please a life and the search and hunger to find, conquer, and discard. Life is a never ending hunger, or it is what you make of it as we have chosen. Although it may seem impossible to do so, people when generalized are a collective, greater than the fantasied "Borg". The collective draws people into it and makes them as a peice in their puzzle. As with the borg their is no real central power and no source to draw from, yet from the moment you are old enough to realize, you are old enough to realize that you have been seduced by one of the facets of the collective. As it even says in the bible, "they shalt be fishers of men." The collective casts out hook upon hook from which to draw you in. But the greatest of guerrillas makes his enemies weakness and failures, his own strengths and triumph and draws from his enemy and defeats him thusly. Such is what we have done. Outcasts of a new reality, a world no words can describe, The tools of the trade are an absurd cache of beyond techologies of a forgetful melody, a well of undying strength that none but the few love. As sordid and confusing as this may seem it is nothing compared to the new mind. A vaccuous hole, but still able to be satisfied, but still not in the sense that everybody else has. Wannabees and pretenders cannot even begin to duplicate or penetrate the chaotic web that is impercievable to all but the chosen. Even now we settle upon unstable grounds and know what we get into. There is nothing new to us as a whole. Discovery is not the spice of life and neither is variety. |