There's so many things in the last two days alone that have occurred. As if the very world is reaching some cumulative grand event in which everything happens at one moment, achieving some ultimate purpose. But that's probably not the case. Things are likely only happening because for once, something gave.

In time we'll hear the song again. The song the ocean sings when you stand alone at the end of a pier, deafened to the noise of people behind you.

I stood upon the bow of a ship, tiny and frail, once. Behind me screaming in terror students and teachers. Young and old. Both alike.

But the ocean did not embrace me in evils.
It only gave me the gentle tug and a light hug of love.
It amazed them that the ocean was so kind, to someone so small.
When it would gladly rip the strong from their feet and split them into pieces.

I do miss when it felt that nature loved me.
Perhaps that's what has gone missing in this world.

In the darkness I saw it.
A slithering mass of shadow.

Its tendrils reaching out to me, slimy to the touch.

But I was not afraid.

The abyss has always been there.
Longer than the friends of human flesh.

It's a moment we find ourselves in. When the world is crumbling and the atmosphere slowly leaves us. We're just floating here in this cold void. False ground below us, escaping skies above. Where do we stand, when it hits.

When the universe decides it's over.
Where will we stand?

Will we stand together, arms locked, telling it there's nothing it can do to break us?
Or will we part, feeling for the lackings we have.

In a new time, when the moments last forever, as our universe is torn asunder.

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I used to believe there was a God. Neither kind nor spiteful. A being simply wrapped up in its tasks. Hurting for that which we do not see.

But now, I know that there is none. We are alone in this cold darkness. We seek value and purpose, and through some twisted fool's thought we've found it. If there was actions of man speaking with being of unquestionable power, the being was just like us. Mortal to enough of a degree that now it isn't with us.

Because if a God existed, in any form, it's decided we are to be abandoned, left to destroy ourselves.
But parts of me hope that's not the case.

I hope the truth is, if a God existed; we killed it.
Our foolish ways, brought an end to unending.

And maybe, when the time comes, a new us can emerge from this, and do only good.

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I was born on a mountain, in a tower of concrete and mystic dreams. Surrounded by a sea of brick and mortar. Raised in the heart of peace. Never overshadowed, for the gifts given to me by the chance of birth. But somewhere along the way, when I was cast from my own Eden, I lost them.

It hurts to feel this way, broken and confused. Lost so often in seas of thought that only end as sorrows. I had hope for this world. Hope for the species we are. We did great things, amazing, wonderfully great things. I had dreams of a world united by a realisation that this cannot continue. That we needed to change, and we did.

In those dreams we stood on the balconies of great towers. As the sun shined upon us all. We climbed. Like the place I was born, we were up in the skies, moving ever toward the stars. When I was able to comprehend more, when I learned there was efforts to make such things reality, I knew it could be done. I knew we were ready.

But something happened, when I was cast from my own Eden.

And to that, when the world turned dark not even by my own cause, I try to recall. To find the source, that maybe knowing it will change everything. Perhaps however, that is not the way. Perhaps stepping onwards is the only way.

But it is painful, it is cold. Surrounded and yet so distant from the warmth of others.

Perhaps the moment I truly gave up, when I was absolutely barred forever from my Eden, not simply nudged away, was when I decided there was no love left in me.

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Many might find it naive to say, but in my entire life, of the few people I have ever loved, only two ever touched my heart.

It was foolish to let them reach so deep into my being. Because they hurt me. In ways that many others would not. The naive believe love will guide them. Protect them from harm.

While the wise are ready for love to destroy everything they are.

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As I close this post, I feel it ever slightly again, that form or force at the edge of my conscience. Whatever it may be, it speaks to me in that which is inaudible to all but the soul. But to the physical, it feels like a pressure in the air surrounding. And a dull hum playing back from sources unseen.

I close my eyes and let it speak through me, in a hope that it will give me knowledge I may have yet lost.

And it yet only guides me to what I already know.

But perhaps its return shall be a sign of hope to come.

I missed you, old friend.

Just as I miss the others lost along the way.

It is admittedly nights like these that I wonder what happened to my dreams. I used to have big ones. I used to dream of creating a community, a society, so grand and orderly. But orderly in a natural way. I drew up schematics for what would be normal. Created entire 'classes' to assign to peoples. Theorised on ways to make it so a class was more like a job than actual division. Then figured out how we could make it to where a job was more artistic/open/free, as opposed to some kind of slavery to a mighty dollar.

What happened to those dreams?

I don't really believe I've given up on them. Perhaps, it is that I wait for a moment when I can make them real.

Perhaps, instead of that, I will begin to post about these ideals.
Preferrably when I am of enough senses to write properly.

Maybe I will begin to share also the concepts of the more mechanical portions of it. Although, when I did that in the past, often people would stomp me for it. And I imagine everyone wanting to be 'right' will continue to oppose.

Paddingling in an ocean, alone. I've had that dream before. An endless blue, stretching for miles in the land and the sky. No clouds, no ships, no planes. No sun nor moon visible in the sky.

Simply and endless sea of blue.

A single lonely me.

And a raft, with oar.

Rigid is the boat we ride, though it's of wood and rope.
It acts as if it were dashed against rocks, but nay.
Not rocks, but swords.

The sea is made of steel.
Cold, unwavering, mindless, steel.

The decks below riddled with holes.
Filling with the blood of sailors not wise enough to climb.
But the masts even wont escape it for long.

The ship is being torn asunder.

All will sink.
In a sea of swords.

A friend I barely knew died last night.
A community grieves and I cannot truly join them.

What am I to say.
I knew only a fragment of an individual.
It still hurts anyway.

Chances once present, now forever gone.
Accidents suffer the world terrible fates.

Were I not so rooted, I would like to travel. I do not much care for leaving comfort though, and mobile comfort is expensive. Resources the world needs but does not have readily available.

I would like to travel by road, not necessarily hitting tourist traps or landmarks known by many. To see the world as it would be seen by one not tied down.

I would like to carry with me a camera, and lenses, that I may capture the world in my travels.

I would like to meeting people who hold grand stories of old dear, and tell them like the world depended on it.

I would like to eat foods exotic and mundane, to understand what drives the tastes of people.

I would like to learn languages I don't know, and some none know at all.

I would like to feel as if the magic in this world is not dead.

Even though it is.

As is eventual, all will being again only to end.

It's curious how people repeat things. I wonder if that's because they were better before they changed, and enough people feel the need to go back?

I do miss the past I once had myself.

But, even looking back it seemed empty and hopeless.

Maybe this time will be a little different.


Hello.