‘People think I’m crazy. I think a lot. I think when I think. If my eyes seem volatile, they may be, or I’m lost in a non-linear perpetual sliding thought and when I break my mind I come out of it.’ So the frog hopped, asking the young girl to repeat herself. ‘Never mind with you,’ she said skipping away flicking at the long grass. She wore a yellow hat.
‘People detest truth. They keep it at arms length at all times. And don’t dare speak it to them! If you do, you’ll be cast into the murky shadows with the worthless gossips they’ve known their entire lives. They’ll kick you repeatedly while you pick up pieces of shattered truth in hopes to again polish and present. They will use the best known methods of destruction to keep you from telling them anything. Even of a good day. -With that, good luck to you, truth keepers, and tellers. Because it’s rather true..of course, that to argue with stupid isn’t an easy thing. Keep the pieces for yourself and only show the ones who’ve proven worthy of knowing. And for the love of God Stop pushing at the door that’s always closed.’ -Thy boy stood away from his mirror having done his best. The play was tomorrow. He was ready.
Drink the wine little boy. Drink it. Look at the lines, little boy. The box fills you well. Have you run along the walls? Have you opened the front door? A man walks toward you. Climb the curtain. He wants a question from you. The man. With the purple. We can’t tell about the purple because it’ll give it all away. A boy finds a marble. The marble is clear with a stripe. The boy asks the marble, ‘What color is this stripe. I can’t see colors.’ The marble replies, ‘Watch me roll. Watch me spit into your mouth the color I choose while you scream for help. You’ll do nothing.’
A boy held his breath to stop crying. When he opened his mouth to breathe he cried without hesitation and much saliva fell from his lips into the pond. The boy asked the water, ‘Can this be over now?’ The water replied, ‘A moment cannot last. No matter how hard it may be. Not even death- your own death. We go from here to another place and it is done.’ -The boy was stunned. While looking into his reflection he asked, ‘But then, what am I?’ and the water replied, ‘Always, you are yourself.’ -M. Taggart
It was the longest stairway. Its length ran from the sky to lower than the ground. Constructed of granite; its origin is unkown. We descended, lower than the clouds. Here we found the steps now hung ragged; we were alone. We could no longer be lead lower than the ground. We asked the wind, ‘How do we reach our place?’ The wind howled and crumbled more of our footing.
I recently read a very powerful blog post. This post brought many mixed emotions. I was back. I felt the anger that I so often leaned on. This anger freed me. This anger spread and fueled my existence. I’ve felt hate. Not the hate confused people feel that’s connected to skin color, or a bad opinions. That isn’t hate. That’s brain washed self involved nothing. Hate leaves a scar so deep it’s only filled with tissue that grows. It’s not forgotten, it’s hidden until it’s needed. This hate comes from a trauma caused to you by others. This is not a hate that can be washed off or cleansed through speaking. I turned toward violence as a blanket for comfort. There is truth in violence. There’s no hidden agenda in blood being spilled when I was the one who spilled it. I still look back and wonder how so many stood watching and were hidden from allowing themselves to truly see. How is this possible.
Now. I’ve come through. I’m here and I’ll stay here. I only wish I could give so many others what I have found.
I’m trying to organize my blog a bit. I’ve put this ‘post’ into my ‘Odd Walking Thoughts’ category. You might find something of interest.