Who we are is not who we really are. There is an invisible chord that runs up from our spinal chords to really tall dark figures we can’t see. They are old. I mean REALLY old. They feed on our experiences, and our lives and choices are experiments that they do for adventure. They can only be perceived in deep sleep or a very intoxicated state. Their thoughts are expressed in Egyptian hieroglyphs. They have skin like paper and the torn holes for their eyes and mouth give them an expression of a sad, downcast smile. When people become sleepy or intoxicated together these beings can interact with each other. That’s why bars, parties and hookups are so popular. They can meet up with others that they’ve known throughout the centuries. They nod to one another knowingly and inhale the cigarette smoke. It’s mealtime…
My father read this story by Jack London to me when I was a boy. It was called “A Piece of Steak”. A poor boxer was fighting for his existence. He had heart and skill, but his strength was wanting for a piece of steak that would give him the energy he needed to win and get the means he needed to go on.
Good does not always triumph over evil. Sometimes hatred and darkness wins the majority. The fears and whims of others need not control us as individuals. We can still care about our earth even if others do not. We can still look on our fellows with compassion while others call them freeloaders. We can still love who we choose to love even if others call it profane. All of the bullets in all of their guns will never take that away. They may win on paper, but they will never win me.
a week passed. nothing happened. another week. still nothing.
Hello out there (huehuehue) Hello?