October 25th, 1723

October 25^th, 1723

 

          Disorganized thoughts haunt the very fabric of my being.

We are divided. My brothers and sisters squabble amongst themselves. Some set loose horrible armies upon humans. Dare I say we are the lesser creatures here? What makes any of us believe we are better than any of them?

     In such a short time we have become torn and two sides pull at me, urging me to surrender to one power, one outlook while the other struggles to win me back. I am a neutral party in it all, though the damnation of humans is a bit hasty for me to accept.

     Seeds of doubt plant themselves deep in insecure bandits set on harm. These words grow older and more pronounced. Truly bemused intentions served parliament; ambiguous and mysterious natures beseech those in power. Still, as time wore on, the sound of the ticking clock maddened all those who listen and one dynamic feature on board refused to banish medieval chivalry.

Agony attracts dying flies. Those who administer it are eager to banish whispers of truth, but then what is truth? Truth itself wears a disguise that prizes shades of misery. Ultimate failure pronounces a wretched hurt upon man. Ruthless measures uncover fragile magic.

Forgotten realms of belief surrounded by blinded sorrow, why do these voices shatter sanity? Wounds will never heal. Pain is too real and time cannot erase tears. No more holding hands through years as all of joy is so hard to tell alone from angels.

Nothing…nothing can prepare the life for the death and maybe it is for the best. Maybe nothing is simple and clean. Easy and hard are just poisons seething from nightmares. Treasures may be hard to let go but daily things keep busy the confusing thoughts. It’s enough!

I write this now as it seems horror has embarked on a mission of great and total chaos. I haven’t the faintest idea where it will go or when it will commence, but clues of its foothold are everywhere. I should have seen it sooner, but my attention though was selfishly squandered.

Healthy tissue will be replaced by uneven and callused structures oozing and leaking various bodily fluids. Then the face you gaze at in the reflection will be a ghost of your former self and with it so shall pass your sanity, your love and your pride.

Evil manipulated mankind. Through difference and ignorance it was capable of spreading hatred, vanity and a lust for wealth and power. This in turn divided nations, subjected variations in skin color and beliefs to scrutiny. Even gender came into the fire of prejudice. Soon humanity could not co-exist.

Why must these puny seeds continue to plant themselves in the very womb of existence? They betray one another, step over one another as if…. They act upon the most basic desires that propel them to disgrace what is commonly viewed as morals.

The world of the living rapes me with all its hypnotic promises. Still, as I am propelled to rediscover it, I know it will never last. Nothing lasts forever anymore and perhaps this is just another daydream. I cannot desire life since now I know it is a reality of lies.

And really the lies people tell themselves are what damns them. You can try to lull yourself into a state of calm by believing death is not the end to life, but what are we really other than nature's creatures unwilling abiding by her rules? I suppose sooner or later this will be realized, but with simple minds exercising fiction I do not see it anytime in the near future. And perhaps this is just another section of my own personal hell.

Honestly I am so tired. I gaze upon the fruits of man and shake my head. What good is it all for? We each have bits of heaven and hell in us. Whichever one controls us is the one we spend eternity struggling in, for being human means to struggle. I ponder these bits of mystery as I rise from my own grave. As a wave of air rushes over me I squint against the harsh rays of the sun and listen to singing birds as they swoop into nearby trees. I emerge as a sightless wonder, though not sightless in terms of blindness. I see far beyond the clouds in the sky and across long stretches of prairies. No, I am sightless to those who busy themselves with tiresome chores and routine. It makes it easier to lay my touch upon their hearts and submerge them in what they name "sin". 

Yes, my thoughts are still disorganized.