Passion, Faith and Death

I wake up to dark thoughts; I say "today is your last day" and I mean it, for all youve done to me, to my family. The first name on the list of all my enemies. People talk about 'an eye for an eye' but I, for one, know this has to be done. I've had it marked upon my calendar, counting down to the advent of this gracious day, knowing when you've gone away, at least I'll find a piece of peace -  my own variation of (pre)meditation. I sit in silence, all-consuming thoughts of violence. Where did all my love go? Lost somewhere in my destructive designs. I think about my mother, being the maker of a murderer, and your mother, because with your death I've murdered her, but a promise is a promise. I use to think that too much hate would eat me up inside, lay waste to my mind; all these Job like lamentations, but from it has sprung a purpose; momentous resolution, near divine revelation. I have a clarity of thought that's followed my decision, my vendetta

You think about Salvation , You do, you think about Salvation , You think about how the meek will inherit the earth, you think about all the sh-tty people who’ll get what they deserve, you think that all this; this back breaking, soul crushing, never retire sh-t, All of this will mean something, be worth something. Worth something more than the end of the month paycheque that goes straight into the pockets of your price hiking landlord, of the mega supermarket chain, of the government that underpays the doctors keeping you sane.   You think about Salvation, you think – often so you don’t forget- that you are a human person with thoughts and feelings and you mean something to someone. Even if your boss’ boss’ boss in a country a private plane ride away, who’s thinking about how the bottom line will look if he axes a department, doesn’t know you from Adam. You think about Adam.   You think about Adam and Eve, And while you might n

  The ant doesn’t know. Does the ant know? The ant exists – instinct. It is borne breathing, living surviving – work for the colony, find food to feed the young, feed the young until the young can find food to feed themselves, to feed the young, tend to the queen, tend to the eggs.   What does the ant know of people? That we are born breathing, living and lost – Or are we just landscape, moving as the trees do, the leaves do.   What does the ant know of breathing, living, surviving – what does it know of a life without purpose? The ant walks across a person’s palm and does not think, does not know, does not understand. And then it does –   Knows this land is a hand, a hand of a person, a person with thoughts, a person who thinks (thinks?) and hopes, and dreams and longs and aches for all the things they never had or had but never valued, a person who regrets not taking that chance to travel, not saying “I love you” to that one person (love?) and the an

You want to write - write romantic; all dusty halls and candle light, you want to write quiet into your brain, Blood out of your veins, you want to write your way out of mediocrity into radical self honesty - self discovery. You want a life free of the fear of death like - F-ck! You want to write like you’ve been in love, you want to fall in love the hurts the heart, intoxication, no one will ever love you like that kind of love. You want to create; let gods crawl out and cut their way out of your mouth - your uncalloused fingertips. You want to be well read, you want to be well, you want to be read, to be understood. You want cassette tapes, and sound, and fire you want to inspire, you want paper lines to  extend into order, you want existence to be easy again you want to remember the exact day that darkness made its home behind bar-like ribs. Calling your personal grandfather paradox a mercy because you’d kiss child you’s cheek so tenderly so future fingers would never wipe tears. F-