Vision of the Future (A Fragment)

We fall from a mighty height into a benevolent river. We struggle against it, agitate it with waves of indiscretion, kicking up sand, dredging stones, whipping up mists that shall swallow the peaks of our newly-formed, mountainous terrain . . . And yet, though the nights are filled with fear; the crevices, eyes; the sea, the bitter flavor of decay; we can still hear the murmured sounds of morning beckoning to the last crest of our tide, long coming . . . and merrily redeeming.


The universe came from nothing,
With intense power, only to fade
Into a cold arena
Of dueling gravity-wielders
Straining at each other’s fiery

Nothing I can say
Will erase the past. Now is forever.
Take comfort wherever you may.
Perhaps, at last, in me.

On How Life Is (The Weight)

Effort isn’t rewarded these days. By nature, human beings judge success from the lifestyles of the advantaged class. The name of the game these days is convenience. We wish to possess that which will do our labors, so we buy machines and gadgets for every possible use. Don’t like cleaning? We have washers, dryers, self-cleaning ovens, and even robot vacuums. Hate cooking? We have pasta makers, bread makers, frozen entrees, and of course drive-thru windows at fast food restaurants. Too lazy to find something to watch on television? We have DVRs that will record shows without being asked to. We even have convenient ways of doing irrelevant tasks. Cellphone apps number in the thousands. How many will we ever use more than once? But we just have to have them.

In the end, what matters most is the ratio of effort to accomplishment. He who accomplishes a modest amount with minimal effort gains the respect, nay envy, of his peers. He who accomplishes a lot but with a tremendous amount of effort is acknowledged to be accomplished yet dismissed as an anachronism. And we wonder why we produce so much mediocrity . . .

No one is happy with mediocrity. Of course, success has never been analogous to happiness which follows its own peculiar Muse. True happiness is often a lonely game and rarely a source of envy. You must build a world with your own two hands under the weight of disbelief.

The Origin of Hope [A Fragment]

. . . and laughter bestrode the world, an angel of unfathomable size. Our joy unbounded swept the plains, hills, mountains and oceans. Only the woodlands remained dark and anxious, rustling with the designs of madness.

      Then, one seed blossomed into a thousand tiny lights, each a pure dollop of hope, and their gleam cast any remaining sorrow to the heavens. The stars weep for us now, tremble in the night, so that we may content ourselves with dreaming . . .

The Nihilism of Doubt

At the age of four, that unredeeming void first emerged, opened itself above me, not necessarily in the sky but nonetheless overlaying the pungent blue. Then, I was in the front yard near the Filbert tree that I never did attain the courage to climb. I don’t recall fearing it.

It was bleak, blob-like. Somehow despite the purity of its darkness, it seemed to shimmer. The void expanded in a slow bleed, and at its full breadth, I heard a faint whisper, a toneless one coming from within it. These words impressed themselves upon me:

“Everything is nothing.”

Then with startling abruptness, the void dissipated as if a nervous daydream. The spuriousness of that experience would’ve caused me to have written it off as such had that void not returned several more times, in each instance gaping at me on a non-descript day, cutting like a strobe of dark through the brightness of living.

I’m terrified of a few things, anxious at many more. However, that morbid maw of nothing has never stirred me, even in the worst of times. It ought to. Else I fear I might perish before the warmth fades from both the muscles and emotions that drive me.