What Would I Do?

I've always thought slightly ahead of my time. When I was eleven to thirteen, suicide was often thought of. It wasn't a results of rash desire to hide myself from the world. To not counter in a more healthy manner the problems that made me feel as if I was folding.In some ways perhaps, yes, I didn't want to face what I felt. But when your feeling what others have on their souls, maybe it becomes more understandable. What effected me wasn't a sad depressed person, as much as a lost and clueless. That is those able to live without any real connection to their inner self. A value I cherished in myself. Was haunting, chilling, and most of all empting when they were near me. And yes, there is a lot of them out there.What removed me from that action? Selfishness. No, not really my own in the desires about life, I don't have many. But knowing the effects of such an act, it's own selfishness and thief from others. I never attempted, but doubt I would have failed at the same time.Another place which was in my thoughts, was to retire by the age of thirty-five. I'm twenty three now, and not really sure if I am closer to that goal or farther away from it. Always a matter of the results of the crossroads. Current ones effect it greatly, at that.Now it may seem shallow to wish myself to money's end and retire. But, more is left my reasons why. What gain is of it in my mind to have this done, by thirty-five? Easy, I have too much I love in this world. Not near in the accounts of people themselves, but the desire to be humbled by the earth itself. Perhaps, at times, the effects mankind has on the earth.I value more then anything, to be able to give time to my mind, and the knowledge it might retain from it. And as a direct results, the entwinements of my writing with the deepest parts of my soul. So by it all, writing has been a driving force in just such a goal. Tell me, what sort of retirement do you really think I am after, in the end?Anyway, I love children. If I am not a father by that age, then I will be deeply saddened. For I have found nothing above God, that I adore more then the gift he has given us in the form of children.

Forms Over Us

Hands always seem heaviest in dreams. Actions less paltry, reason more futile. Strangest dream I know to live is convincing ourselves the what we believe has anything to do with reality.Why is death cold, and heavy? Life light and bright? Is it because of our own understanding of what life is from, and where it's going? Always wonder if the limits of being "from" this life form and commonality isn't the strongest thing withholding truth.I'm not asking to be God, or another equally all knowing power. Just knowing enough to have stealers, thieves, and liars fear me.

Room of Bars

Over my mind keeps with what is perhaps a very cynical view. Did you know, right now today, there is more people alive, then have ever lived before? That is if you dug up all the people that have passed away and made them whole, breathing flesh, you would still have less then the number currently living.Yet they speak about staving people. Do you want to think about the past on that issue? Starvation was a pliable indicator of over producing your means. Through malnutrition, wars, and general survival rates, it was kept in check. I'm not sure what I am thinking by all this. But how do we measure what is right and fair, good and valid? Can we take from those that will not be able to stand in good light, to this question? Do you give, or do you take from the world which you live? Where does your pure, true heart stand? This place is a prison unto we make it be otherwise.

...

It's snowing outside. Been doing that since about three am. I know that doesn't matter to anyone else, but I personally feel like a child. Something about it's perfect touch has me running around the house like a gleeful child. Delighted even more so no one can hear me. Fear not sounding like a fool, as much as having my happiness to myself. Do you know what that kind of happiness feels like? I hope you do. Watch the snow with me. Just come over.I'm looking for ways out of the storm, in a lot of ways about my life. But not the snow. It was made to harbor our imprecations, and smooth them out as beautiful parts of nature. Cold. But it's as if God's hands had something to heal. Find a sadistic, and they might show you things other then joy. Maybe they missed it as a child, just watch another one that loves school. Because on those days they will harbor deep places then any book could ever reach, or playground make.As my fingers try and reach some reality, conclusion, I waste a time that places hands of awe over me. I shall go, and return myself to the nature of what I am. Fallen white perfect snow.