Super?

    It’s a sunny Tuesday in the city of New York. There is a man hanging on for dear life from the window of a building seventy-eight floors from the ground. A concerned crowd watches from below.      Firefighters have arrived but unfortunately their ladders are not tall enough to reach the man in danger. Suddenly a mild cheer can be heard from the onlooking crowd. Super-woman has come to the rescue! “Have no fear,” she says, “for Super-woman is here! Grab my hand so I can fly you to safety.” “No thanks,” replies the man, “I’d rather wait for Super-Man.” While she looks at him with an expression of disbelief, a cheer- louder than the one before- resounds off the walls of the surrounding buildings. Super-Man has arrived! The man gratefully grabs a hold of Super-Man and they both head down to join the celebrating mass of spectators. Upon their decent, the man looks over at the second Super and yells “THIS IS A MAN’S WORLD, BABY!” She then walks home, head hanging low. Never again does she dawn her cape.

Page by Page

She’s a book with missing pages. What I need is not there. What she is is not. She’s a book with missing pages, the remaining are left singed and frayed. Most of the damage self-inflicted. She’s a book with missing pages. This book is not good. She’s a book with missing pages. What’s missing is bright. I gave her some pages but she tore out the light. 

Be Healthy

I’ve been a healthy person. I’ve been an unhealthy person. I choose to be healthy. Healthy is better. 

Doing It’s Job

  There is a reason suicide rates have never been as high as they are right now. There is also a reason why we all don’t know about it nor how to “fix” it. The reason is this- the world is doing its job and doing it well. 

Anger

  The anger he feels is a burning one. The cause matters not. The anger is here and ever present- it courses through his veins. The life-blood of a beast in the body of a man. How futile it is for his anger to be dissipated with a shout and a punch. He can do better. Concentrate that anger, make it into something. Use that blood.
  Friend and foe beware. Woe is here for us all.

Ever So

  The death of a boy in America is slow, incremental. It starts with the boredom- the idleness. Then come the thoughts, like rain coming to relieve the thirst of tares, not wheat. Feed it darkness and it shall grow- flourish. When the harvest comes, it comes early or late- not on time. What is time but interim? The death of a 20-year-old boy in America is ever so slow- ever so incremental.

A Ramble

We do not live in a world of our own design. What does this mean? It means that in order for you to aquire what you desire, what you desire has to be self-evident. It means that we cannot interfere with matters out of our range or scope. It means people will eat dinner when they choose to eat dinner. It means in order for one to be content one must be content. What's the use of chasing something that is not there? Could something not there have the capability to pull? Gravity without matter? Counterintuitive, sure, but a question all the same. Is there a wrong answer? I have no idea, you tell me. On second thought, don't. I no longer care. I'll go back to who I was before. What is a thought but a drop in the ocean? I'll sail to distant shores. Never does a ship pass through the same ocean. Willingly I change course. It's cold outside, something Fahrenheit, a cool delight, if pleasure you find in temperature divine. Malign.
Who was she even? Is she even real? She felt real.. Who is she anyway? Where did she come from? Whever it was she must have flown back, or slithered- who am I to say? No response. How fitting. I have no batteries for my keyboard. I have too many books to read. My arms are sore. There's no one here with whom to be bored. How I wish to play a lonely chord! But again, there are no batteries for my keyboard. We do not live in a world of our own design.