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*long nonsensical rant. Sometimes I wonder how much we are in control of our own actions, and our own fate. Fate is something I’ve always wondered about. Are we born to be certain people.
Life. A dream for the wise. A game for the fool. A comedy for the rich. A tragedy for the poor. A gift for the pious. A laugh for the humorist. A vexation for the cynic. A cult for the communist.
How do we know that things will ever end. How do we know that when we think things will end... And that things will ever cease to be. That once we think it is all over, it won't finish.
I am a Rocket Powered Ape in a land of exponential growth, everyone is so thin that their internal circuits and endoskeletons are permanently on show, this is an abstract concept to me.
From the moment that we are born, we have lost something, we are losing something so fast that it is out of our control.
I was talking to death and he told me how everyone came to him for all the wrong reasons. They went for an escape from all the pain and suffering they called their life.
You're so tiny, you're so small, It seems you're barely there at all, Somehow your size is the death of you, Something so small can't have feelings, is their view, Broken bodies between the...
We grow past time. We will be a different person in future compared to our youth. Thus I am no exactly who I am. We are changing and growing.
Do I have a life, have a soul, Or am I nothing more than flesh on bone. I live, I think, I breath, I know, But in years to come I'll be food for crows. Is life worth a life of living.
When we are really happy, what really are we. When we are broken, what are we. When we can’t stand up once more, what are we. We are human. We are human and human is all we will ever be.
Once upon a time there existed a normal boy. He lived. One day a monster came to his doorstep when nobody was home and he was alone so he let the monster in.
The world goes by, Pain, suffering, persecution, life and death. It matters not to this spinning top of life, It is there to revolve and revolve it does. Sunrise after sunrise.
How would an unpicked flower feel. You have grown up alongside your friends, With no particular differences. Some may grow quicker, Some may be greener. Until at one point, everyone blossoms.
The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country, Knowing at last how you got there, and say I own...
This time that man invented, I really do resent it, For when I am waiting for it to pass, The longer it seems to last.
Riders on the storm Riders on the storm Into this house we're born Into this world we're thrown Like a dog without a bone An actor out alone Riders on the storm There's a killer on the road His...
Little silver cogs, They turn and turn and turn. Working what's inside, Making the little clock work. The small hands they move in tandem, They know where to point and go.
It's funny how as we unfold From a tiny little force, We develop our own design, Our own thoughts, our own voice.
(the last two lines are in homage to bukowski) I love the weekdays whilst you're all in work.
So many people are naive Seeing the world full of rainbows Ignoring the battle cries and death. Those of us who've truly lived, Felt loss, and despair, and pain, See the world as it truly is.
We spend most of our lives wasting time. Putting off homework by going to get a drink. Putting off calling your family by texting your friends. Putting off writing by staring at a blank page.
He was not afraid of the dark, for it was light turned inside out. He always found himself illuminated, where others fumbled about.
Your life is not a dry run, or a practice. Live life hard and fast, there are no second chances. Live for today and everyday, and live it well, cos one day it will all be gone.
I dare not try to justify my needs. All that goes in my mind, All I dare not understand. When I utter a word, A word of capability. I am shunned. A weed, nonetheless.