For the neglected…

 

Life is a fight dammit. Passion swells and fades. Love touches us then wrecks us. All the little things add up to bigger things until we settle into the dust of oblivion justifiably forgotten by anyone that really mattered.

 

The heartless world - the careless & loveless world is forever leeching at our poor spirits. I don't know how it happens to people. The feverish comings & goings of life can make you want to bury yourself in a grave someplace, resigning to the fact that we're just lonely creatures in a world that doesn't care… I guess maybe I do know how it happens to people, but I just wish I didn't.

 

The slippery state of human morality saddles us with disappointment and sorrow. We listen to loud voices spilling loud idiocy, while the quieter voices don't get a chance to be heard. It's that sort of world - where the speechless complainers surrender whatever the charms of life might merit. This is the dismal wisdom of the slave and it is a superb piece of cruelty. It's enough to break your heart a little, as being in life always must.

 

So we might live our whole lives within that special darkness. We lock away our feelings in a jar until they disappear, then subsist with broken hearts that no longer beat. We'll grow to be a part of some tribe of the lost with their lonely faces and black empty eyes, tormented by dreams left blank and kisses left undelivered. We simply become rocks so we never touch again.

 

There's a wonderful comfort there, where nobody sees our real selves, but I wonder how it will end when all that's left are fading snapshots of a time that is fast disappearing from memory. Will there be any chance to mourn when the whole rotten show dries up and leaves its filthy scars upon the soul? Can we start again after the poet's words, once charged with passion, drop away to the delight of the damaged that still need love? I really wonder…

 

Everybody dreams. Your imagination is god itself! As we move closer to the end than we are to the beginning don't let it all become so cheap that any pureness you find is crushed as flat as road kill. The next thing you know it's time to drop six feet under into the box. While it is death that gives the world its point, it's always the lost causes that are worth fighting for the most. And life is a fight dammit!

 

So don't waste time blaming the misery on someone whose true name we'll likely never unearth. Pain is part of it all. It makes whatever joy left in the world that much sweeter.

 

Life is made of dirt you fools! And it's up to us to make something of it. Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on or a hand to hold when the little cracks spread and when words simply won't do it. Everyone needs to feel special sometimes. Like promises made and pure moments lived, we'll carry the most painful lessons in life as benchmarks. But never stop listening for the whispers of sincere possibility. One day they may come, bringing with them those lost hours of time that violate all established laws of sensibility with a love who's heart we can hold above all others that grace the earth.

 

The world is yours! Make us gasp, make us feel, make us live! Let conviction lead you to the edge with the charm of a heart that has forgotten to grow old. The world belongs to people who say 'I CAN' and as long as the spirit burns we belong to life!

 

Take a breath. Live.

 

-zombienose

8/6/07

I wrote this for you. You know who you are.

 

Let me tell you something you probably already know. The daily chore of earning a living leaves hardly any time to live at all. We hurry along, pursued & trampled by the stampede of troubles the world freely provides, until eventually we're buried beneath an avalanche of grief. Time is an enemy to everything and death is the great equalizer.

 

The world imparts too many painful lessons, too often, and never enough tender ones. We're subjected to leaderships that spit words without substance or dimension and we wait as dull vacuums, pretending we exist by pretending we have some control. For so many stupid reasons we give up, give in, give ourselves away as the days grind to dust. We no longer feel with our sense-deadened bodies, nor love with our brooding dead hearts. Wrapping your mind around the futility of it all can leave life aimless without meaning.

 

But life is desire, not meaning. And desire is the premise of all being. Gazing into the starlit night might stir us to dream, yet there's always some minor swelling against it - a resentment brought on by expecting those dreams to ultimately collapse. We live in a world of millions of little people with millions of big dreams and they don't want them to come true, because it might hurt.

 

Everyone has hard days, empty of inspiration. In this instance there is precious little to distinguish us from each other. I'm forcibly struck by the sad death of potential, death of love, death of ideology - the sadder death of all hope. And for each funeral we wear the same shoes. There are so many things that should be and could be, if only… if only. Instead we sink beneath the pathetic ruin that comes in the aftermath of our battles against ourselves. We helplessly surrender as perfect failures that missed the caboose of life's gravy train.

 

Certainly we're flawed and petty, but not beyond repair. Human hearts are like that. Yet everyday we rob ourselves of some chance for happiness. We close our eyes, misunderstand and forget. Like most people I wish I had skipped some of the more anguished years and was spared the shapeless fears that still tear us down. But that would be the biggest fattest lie of the century. We embody our flaws as well as our strengths and you cannot destroy truth by burning the pages of history.

 

All life is sacred, whatever sacred is, and eventually time will have guaranteed revenge. To the more bitter and bruised readers I say this: If you can share just one honest thought, a heartfelt dream, with anyone, that idea will exist! It is the things we mean most that are the hardest to say, but ultimately they are the most gratifying. We are more than just spindly limbs with ravenous appetites. We are inventive and creative beings! There will always be the desire for some champion of our dreams to thrill us with their passion. We'll always need someone to make us feel we have strength when we have no strength at all and that can put us back together when the whole world breaks us down. Those who dream great dreams inspire great hope.

 

So hold on, world. The years ahead are a pilgrim's journey. The future may be more ugly & rough before we're released from it's obvious cruelty. Some of us may not make it, but most of you can excel if you try! The tiresome pursuit of fulfillment may easily devour a lifetime, but the darling bygone days of the past are not wasted years. They made us who we are and who we will become - for better or worse. Let's choose better.

 

At this point I should like to speak to you from beyond the grave so that I may speak more freely, without limitations. It has been more than a decade since I took my last vibrant breath of life and the despair of common regret has overtaken me. By chance, you readers do not suffer from my misfortune just yet. At this moment you have the opportunity to say and do all of the things you've been too afraid or too apprehensive to say and do. You have the chance to clean the slate and move ahead with the solemn wisdom of knowing you've done all you could do in life. This is an occasion that you cannot let pass by. In the end we will be remembered by these things and it is the duty of virtue to mend old wounds and complete the course without eternal harm or shame to those we've affected. Your moment is NOW.

 

If you are lucky enough to find some prevailing tone of relief from the sorrows of life then you are most fortunate. If not, do not surrender to the cold. Apathy takes a more sophisticated approach to the destruction of all human freedom. Love can be a friend, a husband or wife, a hobby or pet, whatever you like, and it can be a grueling struggle. But finding some pleasant comfort to old soreness might very well be the eternal meaning we search for. Or perhaps it is just a desire.

 

May tomorrow be kinder to everyone.

 

-Zombienose

4/28/07

- For the unloved

 

 

Agony... Lonely, lonesome, alone and weak, with no one to play with or tell secrets to. Life tugs at us and there's a million lousy excuses why we hold out for better moments that never come. Fate can be cruel to starry-eyed dreamers, so we give up dreaming. Apathy sets in and then grows so familiar that it becomes the only comforting thing in life.

 

We're not good to each other, to the world or anything in it, including ourselves. We're tired & hurt by too much indifference or by too much concern. We find ourselves strapped to the eternal dread of life and succumb to the anguish of loneliness; of being ignored; of being untouched.

 

Despicable occupations numb & dull our passions as the reasons for it drift past. Life's success can only be measured by some level of fulfillment, but there's pain everywhere, in everything, and we easily wilt like water-starved flowers without a drop of hope. We'll search our entire lives for a kindred to hold when misery devours our dreams and the ache of the friendless soul overwhelms us. All earthly awareness is at the mercy of love and everything else is meaningless.

 

We each have a light to chase, but it can pass by too fast for blurred eyes and we might lose the finest parts forever. When the whole world drops from under our feet we fall into nothingness and simply shut down. With every series of dreams there are holes in the cloud. We die of love, die of devotion, die and die again, everyday, then carry on in a mirage of existence bravely clutching to a secret pride in our secret hearts. It would bleed dry all languages just trying put it into words.

 

The nightmarish problems of the contemporary world have lost their edge of horror because we're so accustomed to them. A preoccupation with the misery of others has robbed us of any concept of kindness that may have once governed the human soul. Our imagination never accepts them as people at all. We watch with impersonal eyes, absent of all pity, as their hours of pure pain soften into daily entertainment. International wars, cosmetic surgeries, domestic murders & scandal are all the same to us as car commercials and game shows. Human culture is an appalling distorted comedy.

 

When our age-weary minds reach a time where death no longer holds a quality of terrible shock we realize that our thoughts will live on even after our own time has passed. Perhaps consciousness expands into other elements of space & time. Perhaps death will be a birthday. I can speak only for myself, but I don't even care to know. There are more immediate matters burning and there are more sensible things to be sure of.

 

No dream of love is obsolete. On my last afternoon, before my bones are a pile of ash, I hope all voices will be the same, repeating this idea over & over until there is an hour of profound human change. This is a call to the shadowy ends of earth, where meager spirits casually drift about and breathe this idea like air. No dream of love is obsolete!

 

Look to art. Look to the force of other human souls. The inexhaustible charm of music can soothe sorrow with voices of friends that we might never find in life. With music heartbeats change, minds change, opinions change, people change and the world can change. Enrich your imagination with literature and creativity. Open the gates to those extraordinary worlds of past, present & future, and let their exhilarating life journeys make every impossibility become possible. Steadily feed your dreams and your time will come!

 

Those of you too wise to carry well-forgotten dreams from year to year are lucky. This ability was not issued to all of us. My mind is a garden of morbid fury and regret, while my heart is an endless riot of emotion. Tonight my brain is worn to rags rehearsing them and I'm wide awake, stupid with torment.

 

Whatever you end up doing, love it. Let the road to self discovery nourish the freedom of thought. Of all other days that ever shone on earth, make tomorrow count. Make your voice heard and your opinions felt. Not everyone can avoid the awful pits of a life horribly endured and often the world tumbles short of our dreams. But persevere, because there are no failed dreams! Sometimes they are just different than what we thought - just different. The world has grown more artificial and apathetic, but we are not impassive robots - not as long as we can still feel pleasure and heartbreak and love.

 

Distinguish your years with meaning! It's not shameful to feel or to express your humanity. Never give up wishing for that one good thing to happen and always relish those eternally comforting souls that you might only find a few times in life. Face life. Be brave and stay strong.

 

-Zombienose

02/18/07