Pill

What’s up with the government? They’re sabotaging the country, not that they haven’t been sabotaging the country for so long, but they’re expediting its doom, perhaps they’re trying to reach this goal before the president dies. It seems like a few people have decided to take it down once and for all.

Where do I start? Oil prices, all prices, bread, cars, education? Which of these can I start with? All the government wants to do now is put a tax on everything, tax on schools, stock market, cars… so much so that they might even apply tax on the damn polluted air that we breathe or for the crap covered ground that we walk on, or on our miserable existence that they’ve allowed.

That’s it, there’s just no hope, we need to take a piece of land and declare our own country because the bozos running this country aren’t running it the way it should be. I think we should also rely on google for education since they can no longer provide decent education nor at the very least allow those who go to private schools to have an education either.

I don’t think that such measures could have been taken except if sabotage and malice was intended. If you put yourself in their shoes, and want to punish everyone for the strikes or for existing, what would you do? You’d look for terrorism law that deprives you of humanity… you’d tax everything and ridiculously so… you’d increase prices and cancel subsidies. You’d have a thought police, violate human rights routinely, give people those bones of football, religion to chew on. I think all this has been done. If I could think of all this while thinking of sabotaging a country, what could they have been thinking?

The sad part is that we’ll swallow this pill. I wish one of them would some day grow a conscience. I used to feel sorry for Kings of the past when their enemy conquers them and gives them the worst of deaths… but now…

Sad Old Sorry Tales

It hurts to have those you cared about
and have given to turn their backs on you.
It's a sad old sorry tale of the bitter life we live.
Each time we complain we're told to grow up,
it's a sad and worn out tale to complain.

Such naval gazing it may seem to look upon your state
and curse your wretched fate
for having been given this lousy hand from life.
Grow up they say, and I say too
when words like these I see written on pages like these.

These words seem to me as virtual as the medium which they occupy,
but when at once that feeling visits you with force, you need to say it too.
You need to sound worn out and juvenile,
telling the same old tale as though you've found some profound truth.

Yes, the world is filled with many a Brutus, and we've all had our share of knives,
where is the profound truth in this?
Truth it may be, but new or profound? I think it not.

It seems to me the world tricks us sometimes
or people themselves deceive us into thinking that such is not the case of the world.
But those who stand by us ever so constantly are forgotten.
We care about those who stab us when they falter in their usual supporting love.

Yet all these are words
and words I care not about if I were to read
out of the hands of other players in this life,
yet it's our right to curse our fate
and look upon the world with dismay.
It's our right to ramble and victimize ourselves
as though none of those who read have been wronged as much as we.
And men like me will mock these tired old tales,
not for being above them, but for having experienced them all too well.
I fail to sympathize even with myself in normal times
when thoughts like these don't visit me.
How then can I expect to sympathize with others
whose naval gazing seem more shallow than my own?

It's a sad old sorry tale of being wronged, forgotten, neglected or rejected.
Yet when I think of those who have offended me with these wrongs,
my cocky arrogance and snobbery are humbled and set aside
and my heart lets out a sigh, nostalgic in essence emotional as a child's.

I think on them with sorrow and joy,
for having given me so much, enough to hurt me this much.
I think upon them with love and fond memories
and regret that is not my own.
A regret with no guilt from me,
a sad and happy thought that is hard to explain.

Yes, even one like me can stop my self mockery for a time
and realize that behind these sad old sorry tales of bitterness,
there is some truth to be felt not known.

Thank God for Music

Thank God for music in films and dramas. The sound of a scream in real life is scary, it spells catastrophe and is very disturbing. When it is on screen, it loses this effect because there's some sort of background music during the scream or after it. This music takes you to drama and make-belief and tells your mind that it's just for show. The harrowing experience is toned down a little.

But the really scary movies are those that take you closest to reality, not the ones with zombies and ghosts or ridiculous serial killers, but those that take you to situations very close to reality. It's those scenes that could happen to you, when the build up is so masterfully done that you could imagine yourself being there. In those scenes there's usually no music, just a situation that's horrifyingly real.

That's why I'm thankful that in most other movies there is music with the screams. Because when I hear a powerful scream from a neighbor's place, the music background assures me that it's the television.

Beowulf

"O King," sang the bard, "I have tramped the whole world over in the course of a lifetime. Every mighty king I have seen with these eyes. Every land have I understood, each with its own customs and habits, each with its own law. On truth have I learned above all others! A king who seeks to rule his people and his lands without warfare must make this his plan: he must work first and foremost for his people's good."

"One truth would I set high above all others," repated the gleeman. "Only the king who loves his people is beloved in turn of them. That king alone shall never be forgotten."

I'm Not Afraid

I'm not afraid of death, I'm afraid of pain and loss.

Everyone Does It

How could I have let myself become such an alien. It's simple and everyone does it. It's those simple crucial moments that I let pass me by without having a say in them. Now I realize that I am who I am in moments and their combination make up my character.

It's become increasingly difficult to analyze my ways as they've become more complex compounded by age. It's even harder to present solutions now, abstract solutions that can have a changing effect on my character. Even my handwriting has changed now. I've known that personality can be unveiled through handwriting traits and so it makes sense that my handwriting has changed.

I need to be in contact with myself in all the moments that need me. I need to decide what it's best to be. It has to be natural not contrived.

Munich, Feb 2008