The ludicrous notion that we must know everything by the time we are ten

There’s so much focus on clarity these days. The emphasis placed on having to see people and things for what exactly they are. To have take apart any secrecy, look through all plans and be able to say for sure that nothing is being kept from us. To determine that they are true to us, with no hidden agendas. But what about when the truth is stripped bare and it’s a shrunken corpse, a black, rotten apple? Some presents are better left unwrapped. War cannot be won without blackmail.
//
Even not as leaders, we cannot let ourselves be misled. We must know exactly where we’re headed, where we’re going. What is your personal vision, always have a goal. See, see, SEE. look. Closely. Carefully. Everywhere you look, whereever you go. Squint and scrutinize. And put every effort into achieving it. Everything you do must hold purpose, it must bring you closer to your pot of gold. Sharpen your focus, blur off the background. Cut out the noise, black it all out. Nothing is worth anything except for your own road.
//
And you must know it as a child.

 

Roiling Storm

Our fires light the land,
we run ablaze.
Combat the coming darkness,
FIGHT the coming blue.

We are small/we may be tiny.
But until we fall, we will stand tall.
We will not cower, hide or run for cover
Resistance is futile, we are wise to know.
All that’s left to accomplish is elegance in the second coming.

image

Notes:
1) I stole the pic off tumblr (I love Californian sunsets)
2) this sounded way better when it first tumbled out from my brain

And then there was Hell

Dry, empty static crackled across the sky. It was late. But then again, it always was. He looked out, watching as the flashes sparked across the horizon, splitting the sky in two. It was beautiful. The light lit up his face every time it went for a round, trying to shatter the dark fabric of the Night, she in her beauty all sprinkled with stars. It failed each time, of course, and she continued to lay across the earth, covering it like a blanket. Slumbering on, serene and peaceful in spite of everything else that tried to disturb her. Our petty crimes seemed so small and faraway to her, she simply gave a little yawn watching them each night. Sometimes thunder and rain would come, like discomfort in an upset stomach. But they all passed quickly enough, and she would quickly return to the tranquil guarding of the absence of the sun.

‘She must be so beautiful,’ he thought. Ah, yes, she was, but you were thinking ‘beautiful’ in the human sense. Gaze up upon the heavens and see her in all her glory, will you? Not every beauty must be human, and sometimes it is precisely because something not human that it is beautiful. Men. Always trying to fit us into one box or the other to meet and satisfy their groundless, illogical and pointless standards. Bah! She could smother you if she wanted. Choke out all your oxygen and leave you suffocating in the darkness. Or let loose, and scorch you with the fires of her meteors like the scalding hot soup when you drink too fast. Or she could leave, and the gaping yawn of the void would be all too eager to come and swallow us all up.

Deep in her belly dark secrets she hold. Your worst nightmares she has ensnared and keeps at bay for you. And for nothing in exchange, no, she simply does it because she knows we are not enough to handle the terrors she has known. …Mother? No, she is not. She just does what she knows has to be done. Such is the world, where nobody will see you for your more elaborate servitude. Only that which can be admired or spat on. Stirring emotion in the simplest sense, never requiring more than a single thought to see, or understand. The sooner you know this the easier life will be. And then personal meaning and fulfillment you will seek.

Perhaps embark upon a journey to Hell, see if the demons you think haunt you can match up to the ones that never managed to slip through the cracks in the forty-foot high, three-inch thick, steel-reinforced concrete. In the most literal sense, of course. How could those creatures be kept in with some top-grade Swiss-made bank vault door? (No offense, we know you’re the best. Just maybe not for keeping demons in Hell) Or would you like to challenge them yourself, to see who is a greater abomination, and maybe, finally, find your place beside Satan? Rule all vice in a seat beneath his mighty chair. Indulgence will be your remuneration AND your job. Sounds good, eh?

Or are you one of those *cough* ninnies *cough* (excuse me) who are just so insistent on going to Heaven, joining and becoming one with God, or the Divine or the right and the good? Go on then, seek your happiness. Suffer, endure, help, salvage. In your hopes and dreams of bathing in the holy light, all warm and comfy, soft and fluffy, wrapped in the white fluffy towel of indulging in good. Just good, and nothing else, for decadent excess would be sinful. Outsourced to hell, darling. Heaven’s gotten a little overcrowded after all these years. Gotta tweak the criteria for getting in. Raise the barriers to entry, make it a little harder. ELIMINATE THE UNWORTHY.

Ah, fuck that shit. Do whatever the hell you want. I’ll just be here watching.And maybe one day when even Hell gets too full it will probably be time to get rid of all of you. And then I will rise, and sweep across the once again barren earth with my army accumulated over the years. My playtime’s due in a couple more aeons. And yes, I will come for you.

Good, good, go back to your work. Tire yourself to the bone and convince yourself that it matters. It doesn’t, but who am I to judge? I’m just the vacuum cleaner of the universe. Not even the right hand of God or Satan or whoever. I’m just the frustration that rips all creation in half and then to tiny bits and shreds, depending on whatever the trend is that season. I make the blank pages, the fresh starts, the new beginnings. But before all that, I collect payment. Yes, yes, peace or at least nothingness for Good and Evil to fight over world domination again. Ah, my dear brothers. But I want my turn with existence too. I can’t wait for all the fun to begin.

*(what, you think I do this all for nothing? Of course there were incentives. Besides, you weren’t expecting everything to just disappear without a mess, were you? You’ve seen the ruckus people make when they know they’re about to die. You think all of creation wouldn’t be the same? Where else do you think you got that trait from, hmm?)

dailywritingprompt: Chaos

Mary had a little lamb

then the priest he tried to snap its neck.
got five other men to have it on its back.
laid spreadeagled on the cold stone table.
 
Its hapless baa-ing touches no heart.
“oh Lord, bless us! Here, we have you an offering!”
“meayyyh…meayyyh…” sound Its last bleats
 
(even) the Lamb mocks your innocence, naivete,
(even) as the blade plunges down.
 
the blood is spilt, it spurts, it sprays, and spews and spews and spews
does God love you now?
 
dailywritingprompt- sacrifice
 

Pondering the decision

Enervation of the soul eternal
post-sale to the bloodied Devil
 
Languish in the sulfuric languor of hell
as God sits on his bleached throne
 
It has been stained no less than the one in hell
but it’s shinier, and cleaner
 
Is the only difference the janitors?

Shadows

In dark alleys. Under your eyes. Behind you in the glare of spotlight. Inside you, leaking out from your soul and coating you all over, smearing your vision, taste, hearing and smell. Like yet another caul you struggle to break out from. The raven black of your beautiful hair, and the pinpoint black of your dilate pupils, ringed with the red of your bloodshot eyes. The shadows, they enclose all of you in its embrace, a slick, icky film. Thin as paper, light as air, weighing down on you like a hundred pounds. The noose tightens. You choke, and struggle to breathe. Onlookers see you struggle and fight thin air, and offer you a paper bag. But they do not understand. No one does. You can breathe, but something’s in the way. Your body can’t draw air through the thickness of the shadows, but you can breathe perfectly fine. ‘Lift it off of me, and I will be perfectly fine again.’ Like a shiny new maserati sitting under a dusty cover in a dingy garage. You are bright, a gleaming, brilliant star, waiting to be set free as you sink in the darkness trapped in the viscosity of night.

dailywritingprompt: Shadow