Just because, it’s been so long since I’ve put a post up, I’ve made sure that this one is tasty, tasty; hopefully full of nutrition and vim!
I write the wind, it’s the sail between that which I am and am not. I am a writer, by decree and apparently by those who have read some of my musings and considered them worthy of merit and the time to read. I seek not the knowledge, nor the wisdom of the spheres, nor the inner workings of little things like particles and mice’s ears. I merely pose to you, to them, the greater existence at large, what question, what desire, what mask, what thing it is that we surround ourselves with and consider to be more than the things that we put in our garage.
We exist, on this plane of being, for whatever purpose one wishes to acknowledge. Regardless of intent, or the purported desire to invent, we all have the same begin, the same end, it’s merely coloured and flavoured with different spices and words to describe. Forever, or rather, forever that we set sail upon the journey of our lives, and that one last day, we expire our time in pursuits both grand and dissolute. Never tire, never give them up, never grieve their choosing, nor pickle the thought that made it relevant at that time.
I write the wind, a fickle beast that twists and spirals and dances from moment to moment, dusk till dusk, dawn until something else. There is no point in describing the moment, for the moment is lost each time that it is found. A taste, a sight, a touch, song sung without sound. Feel the energy, as it wafts twixt moment and dream. Be aroused, be excited, be at peace, for it is all as it would seem.
We are all members of this greater or lesser design, by chaotic actuality or organized dream; we are, we do, we come through the gates of Life, two by two (sometimes one by one, sometimes all by all.) Our mission, should we take up that gauntlet, is to be; to be the best that we can, in light of all the many things that stand in our multiple ways, to be, what we’ve always been on the path to becoming. To become, that which we will be.
I write the wind, in all of these things; by thick or by thin, by rustle or by crack, I think of these things, or in all of their lack. Each night, I query the dark place and the light, to assess the measure of what’s wrong and what’s right. Know, that to all these things, to all these lights, there are no simple designs, no erstwhile ersatz refrain too bright or too dark, that can spoil the day, the spirit of Life.
We are all connected, by as simple a filigree as that tendril of light that moves between each computer hooked up to the ‘Net. It’s a sparkly place, a gloomy place; a place of constant flux and sanity thrown out the window whilst looking for a fragment of glory. We sniff at the hands that come close to our faces and benignant and insouciant, a fraction of our soul, souring at that level of injustice.
I write the wind, the swirly words that drift back and forth between the cacophony of night and day, shadow and shine, theirs and mine. It’s a battle of wills, a hearkening of kills, a light that makes no night feel any better to be done. Rise to the challenge, speak to your soul, allow a measure of question, to become a part of your goal. Within us all, there is the light to see; something more than just mindless words, or a gloomy mystery.
We mind our words, careful not to disturb too many beasts that lie within the constructs that we structure our world around. We look with caution and grave doubt at the world around us, and we shudder in the light of other’s designs, both dark and bright. We know that we have the power to change these things, to make them work for us as much as for the others that our world includes; but still, we refrain, out of fear that our machinations will rock loose a stone or a dust mote and bring doom upon all of those little things that we have already worked so hard to amass. There are too many things in this life to miss, yet again and again, we speak loudly of things irascible and remiss. Wake up, and smell the dead; we’re not in your lives just for the sake of being here, we’re hip deep inside of your head. We speak to you, we know you hear us and we but just want to change the world and make it whole once again.
These words, they mirror the dark, they brighten the light. They are concepts, both intended to query, as much as they were designed to confuse. One makes one’s own path, cut in blood, or coaxed with honey. In the end, at the day final that we look back and count the things we consider to be of merit in the journey that we’ve taken, does it measure up? To either our own tally, or that by which others we care for, or whose opinions that we care about? In the final analysis, does it matter if what we set out to do, is to create, is to destroy, is merely to continue as we’ve done for so long prior? Or should we set the bar higher, each time we seek to measure it’s progress?
I write the wind, and you breathe it in. If you could undo what has been given, would you shake loose the world or would you give it back in kind?
I say, just do it; and give me the cookies to prove it …
Be Bright, be brighter, be the brightest you can, for these words and yours can help the Zombie plan …!