Taking a break from writing my book

Love

God

Miracles

Hypnotism

It only exists if you believe in it

So how can you believe in it?

Are we born to faith? Only when we can reason well enough to form our own conclusions do we find ourselves at a choice. Ignore our skepticism and believe simple because we have always believed?

I believe that knowledge is a false idea.

Certainty is arrogance.

The senses are easily deceived.

Everything around me could be a hallucination, or a dream, I could be in a coma right now in a world nothing like the dream one I reside in.

I'm wandering now

Do try to keep up

We like to wallow

Humans that is

"Get back on the horse"

Only implies that you don't want to

I feel so uninspired with my life

What hardship have I faced that hasn't been self inflicted?

I know I've rambled on this before

But still

:3

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The Modern Guide for the Misunderstood Messiah

One might think being a messiah is altogether difficult. That it requires divine inspiration, that only the son of a god can carry out the role. Think carefully however, on what so called holy texts tell us for certain regarding these messiahs. First and foremost, they are entirely human. These so-called deities come to earth and become human in every way, so they can be, by definition, in no way supernatural. This rules out divine inspiration. So, now what do we have? Regular people with epigrams, hollow words to be interpreted as wisdom and misconstrued, and literally hundreds of generations of secondhand accounts of a handful of miracles. If that's all it requires then why do we not call magicians messiahs? What separates them from the average person? Persuasion?

Cardinal rule of being a messiah, is being vague enough that your message can be totally misconstrued. It really doesn't matter what your message is, as long as people can contort it to fit their desires. Keep in mind however, that people as a rule do not want to be totally happy. They wallow in their guilt, their shame, their depression. As long as you feed them something to fuel their guilt, they'll ignore the rest of your message and focus on their self constructed depravity.

Keep in mind however, that as a messiah your good intentions(if it's possible for one to cause so much suffering with good intentions) will be the cause of wars for millenia following your death. which will be painful and early in life, due to people being unable to cope with the parts of your message they disagree with. the sooner you are dead, the sooner they can begin to misinterpret it.

Till Death

Till death do us joyfully reunite,

Hand in hand in that wondrous twilight land

S

Sacrilege! I sit upon that sagacious saddle of sanctimoniousness, sending salutations to savage sections of a segregated society, subsisting on the souls of supercilious and the stand-off-ish, the setto starters and the sacerdotal scientologists. My scimitar of sabotage slices through the sacrosanct superfluous pseudo-solemnity of the synagogue, that sanctuary to spiritual proselytization.

Words from Vocab book

I accredit your credence in his creed to credulity, not a creditable deification of deities, a pantheon of divine divinities. He is sacrilegiously an atheist theologian, leader of a theocracy that apotheosizes pantheism. Consecrate his execration of sacraments as sanctimoniousness, he sanctions this hierarchy of so-called sanctity.

Abstraction

Dare I bequeath myself to descend from my sanctum, proud and mighty on the hill surveying the mottled landscape, creatures of habit scurrying to and fro unchanged in their ways across millennia.

Self image

Social self-image is formed by one's opinion of the opinion of others.

I'd like to say it doesn't matter but that's not true.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but time doesn't heal all wounds.

I have an unfortunately powerful memory. I say unfortunate because I can remember every single time I've ever felt embarrassed since before I can remember really anything else. Every awkward moment, every time I've been wrong, every biting comment or criticism I allowed to slip between my defenses.

I relive these moments every time I feel self-conscious, and while I'd like to say they make me stronger they usually reinforce my insecurity.

Back to my original point, one's self image is like the reflection in a mirror. You can choose certain aspects of you image, even make changes, yet you are never fully in control of the image.

Just something I'm thinking about right now.

Limbo

I realized I'm in a limbo period in my life. Caught between two stages in almost every aspect. Skill and intelligence and whit and passion strain against the ties of age and ability. it totally bites.

Escape part 17

Birds can't talk, I reassure myself for the third time, glancing at the hawk perched on the telephone line outside my house. I refrain from peeking around for a leather clad femme-fatale hiding in the bushes.

Peyote!

say it fast, johnny cash, talk real slow, move your blowhole, dress in black, cadillac, fool em all, curtain draws!

Escape part 16

I glance back at the pier. The bird ruffles his feathers in a semblance of a wave, perched atop a pile of luggage She dips her head, mouths farewell. I wave back, pretending to bid adieu to New Orleans. So the line has truly blurred. Just something else I won't have to deal with for a week

Author's note: This may be the last Escape for a while. I wrote this at the beginning of my cruise, and things changed considerably since. Rest assured when I have more I will post it.

Wrote during christmas break

Arms tight against my chest

Bracing against the cold

Bitter frost

Reinforces

Loneliness

Damnit

Why can't I just be happy

Force it

Like everyone else

100th post

This blog has become, I'd like to think, more than just a trite "dear diary' collection of sob story posts from a lonely adolescent. I'm not writing to whine about my life, or seek approval for my humble creative works. When I began I sought merely to post some old poetry has turned into a medium to get perspective through writing, and take a good look at my life and how I'm living it. This collected body of short prose outlines my personality, and with it I have begun to define myself in a way I struggled to before. And recently while writing "Escape" I've had an outlet to gain relief from the loneliness and frustration that has plagued me over the past few months, and one that has given me purpose during the doldrums of so much time spent alone. So. Here we are, one hundred posts. Thank you for reading, those of you who still do among the seven with the url. Next stop two hundred.

Escape part 14

"You brought it here? Fools!" The bird squawked at us in disbelief as the scaly behemoth cantered into the dank cave. We ignored the chatter and unhooked the worn leather saddle, tossing it into a pile by the hawk. The beast snorted and rolled its now freed shoulders, a puff of smoke rising from its nostrils. "What's the matter? It was your plan that helped us free him" I joked to the now quivering pile of feathers pressed against the wall in fear.

Escape part 13

Braided rawhide tassels whistle past my cheek, curling with a earsplitting crack just over my shoulder. The whip retracts quickly, poising for a second strike. "You shouldn't have come here!" the blonde whip wielding handler admonishes. "They are dangerous and unpredictable you can't let them free!" I ignored her and back flipped out of range of the whip just before it sliced through the space I formerly occupied. All I had to do was keep her distracted long enough for Zasha to cut through the chains. She had better hurry.

A thunderous roar echoed through the small chamber the handler had chased me into. We froze, her face white with fear. "What have you done?" She shrieked, pausing long enough for me to dive past her and slam the heavy steel door.

Escape part 12

The plunging neckline of her blood red gown manages to leave little to the imagination and send it soaring with lustful fantasies as she mingles her way through the crowd with all the grace of a well-mannered diplomat. I can't help but watch her from the balcony above, smirking at the thought of the dagger hidden against her thigh. She seems cool and collected to the party goers, but I can tell from here she is scanning the security, confirming what I had already observed. The shifts had doubled.

Her impatient expression as I rounded the room with a tray laden with champagne did little to expedient the journey to her corner. "This isn't going to work with your avian friend's plan. Is there a plan B?" I grinned and gestured to the not quite ceremonial sword hanging at my belt. "I like plan B already."

More flow of consciousness

Smoking gun

Empty

Hurt

Cold

Alone

Confused

Disappointed

Disillusioned

Disarray

Pieces

Broken heart

Ache

Anger

Hardened

Inner shell

Cautious

Dare to hope

Afraid of

Rejection

Finality

Give hope

Take it away

So tired of this game

Escape part 11

The dim swinging lamp brought a faded map into relief, tangled scribbles outlining the aged ink. She leans across the table towards me, nimble hand pointing out a hidden escape route. Eyes meet, my breath catches at the ravishing depth of her gaze. The damned bird coughs from the corner, abruptly ending the moment all too soon. "Enough. The plan is flawless. You both know it by heart. We go tonight."

Barely an hour later, we stood back to back catching our breath surrounded by recently slain bodies in a slowly spreading pool of blood. "That was more guards than we predicted" I murmured between gasps for air. "What's the matter? Tired already?" I grinned and leaped backwards over her head. Tired indeed.

Rain

Cool rain

Refreshing

Invigorating

Bare skin

Lips

Wet

Shiver

Arm around you

Heartbeat

Warmth

Your cheek

Against mine

Fading

I hold you tighter

Disappear

Never there at all

Tears fall

Drowning

No will

Won't swim

No point

Don't care

Without

You my love