Sometimes I just like to write; about nothing, something, and everything all at once. I just ramble on endlessly about what comes to my mind and don’t stop until there’s nothing left to say. I just like to write for the sake of writing (here I go again). Anyway…this often leads to (potential) excerpts or just little nothings. Ever since the night before last, thoughts and ideas have been racing through my mind. So I figured, hey the middle of the night is a time good as any to get them out, right? Thus, this post will be my ramblings (both new and old). Quick side-note: these may or may not have titles, so I’ve just numbered them in the order that they are posted.
The field is neither barren nor lush, the sky neither cloudy nor clear, the air neither heavy nor light, the water neither hot nor cold. In this place everything is still and moving at the speed of light. All is right, but everything is wrong. What is this place? What isn’t it? Perhaps we’ll know, or perhaps we’ll never know. It’s all undecided and predetermined. A baffling paradox or a simple puzzle? This is…
All gone in an instant
(this will most likely become a poem…or stay as is; we’ll see)
3- “Conversations With Myself”
As her gentle feet graze the sand and her worn hands run through the grass, she finds herself drifting into thought.
“What’s the point of it all?”
“Do you think about that a lot, the point of it all?”
“Almost all the time”
“What if there is no point to it all?”
“Then we’re just wastes of space and this is a convoluted trick. Why would we be here, experiencing all this twisted love and pain? For nothing? Is that what it all really comes down to?”
“Maybe that’s the point.”
“It..it can’t be.”
“Listen for a second, what if there is no point at all? Maybe we are just wastes of space and there’s no purpose. But isn’t that amazing? The fact that we can just be here; be here without having to worry about some predestined plan that we were never apart of? Instead, we are free to do what we want, how we want, when we want. We’re free to just be; to be us. And if there is something greater out there, then so be it. But we can say we did it; we lived.”
A muffled voice can be heard in the distance. Slowly, it raises in volume as it echos on.
“I have to go.”
“You can’t, there’s so much more to discuss. Where are you going?”
What if this isn’t anything, it means nothing? What if none of this is real? Is time even real? Are we even real? They say you have a flashback of your whole life when you die; what if we’re all already dead and we don’t even know it? What if this is just some transitional place; we’re here until we get it right; dying isn’t real; dying is either being reset to try and get it right again, or being pulled out of this illusion? Will we ever know? Can we ever see things for what they truly are? What if…?
5- “Travesty” (?)
She lay on the hard, chilling cement as she ached from the pain that was shooting through each tendril. Despite her spirit and will to fight on, she knew that it was not an option. Perhaps it was time to accept death. It loomed alongside her, much like her own shadow. If it was not now, her time was soon to come. She decided to let go; it was time. As she let her eyes close once more, the pitter-patter of footsteps echoed in the distance, becoming faint until the clicking of his boots was inaudible.
I used to think I was fearless, but then life started to chip away at me piece by piece. Now I worry that I’ll never be able to pick up the pieces, and wonder if I should just let them all fall.
Tomorrow never came,
Oh what a shame
Some much time wasted
A life, wasted
It ended so easily, quickly, simply
How could this have happened
I just don’t get it
Always a smile on that golden face,
Even in the end
8- Not As They Seem
The dream was right in front of him; it was so close that he could taste it. He reached out to touch it, but when he made contact it all crumbled to dust.
Place your hand on your face, feel the bones that jut out and sink in. Is this familiar? Grab one arm forcefully. Now stop and think. Was that strange? Does your own touch feel foreign? Why is it that so many of us know ourselves the least?
Why? He asked slowly at first as he choked down a sob. Why? He asked once more. No answer. Why? Why? He asked again with growing intensity. Why? Why? Why? Why? He began shouting. The simple word was repeated with an all-consuming fervor. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? He asked, asked, and asked again. He asked until he was going mad. WHY? Suddenly he collapsed and they rushed to his side. Now they all care. They said it in their minds, where no one else could hear, “Why? Why? Why?” Soon they said it aloud, but slowly at first as they each choked down a sob.
11- Now let’s lighten the mood and end on a high note; this is “Timeless”
A breeze; gentle and cool
The sky; a beautiful oasis,
where thoughts can roam free
Above, the birds chirp joyfully
In the distance, water gently falls
and pools into a small pond:
the perfect place to dip tired feet
Weary hands run through
soft, vibrant grass
form a firm bed,
a delightful resting place
Here, time stops
Neither the camera resting on the neck,
nor the pen and paper in hand;
can capture the serenity
Well that was a bit longer than expected
Thank you to those who read through it all, and to those who read some of it. It’s all much appreciated. I’d love feedback on any and all of it, so feel free to comment to your heart’s desire. Have a great day everyone.