By the sword, everything is taught

[Sepia]

Every now and then, someone will rear their head. They'll look beyond the dunes of sand and will wink away the sand still in their eyes. They will see the world as-is and will understand how it works and how they themselves work, in a local or national setting and most of them that we hear of will decide that there is something wrong with the planet, not with them and they will begin to create. A magician will come every hundred years or so. We already know his story, we already know her story. We've heard it for forever and if there's is still a spark of our desire to see social wrongs being undone we'll hear it again but most of us will fade, try to pretend it isn't so but some else will try to help him saying it won't work like this. That is not the face of god, god's face is different. You shouldn't do it like this, not these thoughts, wait, let me help you understand life.

They are the tragic fools of life. They are the teary eyed ending of a movie, a story mostly associated with indie films but also finding more and more room in the hollywood enviroment. The comedian will stand tall to us in the doomed to fail Watchmen movie as the twisted version of the story, the hero/antihero which sees his role and knows the end but moves on with it, does it. Some of us will identify ourselves with the comedian, but none will mourn him. Some philoshopher to step in, to talk about ethics and we'll see it makes sense but when was the last time we knew our philosophers by heart? How much did you learn those first six months in the university and how much do you remember now?

We don our glasses, walk outside and squint at the sun, taking time before seeing the morning fog. We see the love bukowski spoke of and we see it disappear and we listen to the children of flowers as they walk past and talk about love and spending the military budget on feeding the world. We sit ourselves down with our cup of coffee and our steaming coffee, taking in the air and the smells and how this life really feels like and we think about these things we've heard a thousand times, now reduced to slogans as they are recited with the designerwear hippies walking past us, any movement of any ideological worth will only pass the aesthetics on to further generations

"When the spirit wanes the form appears"
- Charles Bukowski

They combat the form with all their spirit, creating ripples across the known world and we see them in our daily lives, there where they walk amidst paper clippings and odd jobs, we see the world's attetion focus and we see someone give and then we see the world demanding more.
A head is stuck out and a head is chopped off. They try to bring sanity/something for the world but there they all stand like bamboo in the wind, a forest of everlasting ostrich, a sea of dunes where the birds are as far as the eye may see, with all their head down into the sand and there's one with the head up, there's one looking out at everything else and there


and every time the world forgets you forget about the world and you live in this state for as long as you can and there, the mirror breaks, the dream will continue and the two fingers will cleave the mirror and the halls will be laid bare and we will see the corridors passing in every direction and moving towards what is us and where we will be

it will not matter

the ostrich will still stand and see the others dwelling with their heads down in the sand and he/she/it won't think that they're the king among blind people

That ostrich is going to weep

Over the seriousness of the situation

[wade]

cold.

[Cramulus]

Rugged. Moving. Well I don't know if it inspires motion or inertia. Either way, an affective piece.


the first two paragraphs are my favorite, though the Watchman reference sort of jarred me out of the stream-of-consciousness. Reminded me that the narrative is in your head and not mine. 

[Adios]

Will we weep the passing? I think we will simply stand in silence and watch.