Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Gravity

Many people ask, "Why do we have to feel pain?"

The answer is, "You don't have to."

That, my friends, is your choice.



Everything in circulation, set in motion, time, its essence, literally life itself is a choice. Whether you live or die, although there is still a much singular higher power in control over this, the choice is still yours. Evidence that this is true is spread throughout our internet industry, magazines, leaflets, almost everywhere. How a man regains the strength of his legs after a horrible incident, coming back to the living breathing world after a coma, all kinds of recovery in the human body is largely based in our mental strength and power. The will of our minds make us who we are, and in its immense, unexplored vastness, therein lies our immortality.

I could be wrong in all this, but this is my theory.


Here I will reveal small secrets on the conditions of our minds, how, what makes us tick. Throughout all the studies, I dare to say that I have barely even begun to scratch the surface of the ultimate truth.

Behind, underneath, within our minds, our thoughts lie various layers of ourselves. Our limits, our potential, our weakness, our strengths, our 'buttons', our vulnerabilities . There are some or many of us who are aware of them, and being so, they find the different levels of the mind. The 1st conscience, the 2nd, 4rd, 4th, 5th and so on. It may be impossible to tell how many levels of consciousness the human race possesses, but one can try to guess. The first, is the conscience of our world. Color, shape, smell, basically, our 5 senses. Nothing more. The second is gently combined with the first, making it real, giving it weight, depth and understanding. The third, also combined with the second, thereby massing together with the first, is our ability to judge right from wrong, feelings that surround us, awareness, limited imagination, sense of direction, a small sign of our sixth sense. Although this varies in people, we somehow posses a sixth sense, although we are almost always unaware of it. The fourth, fifth and onwards are the ones that give a person character and attitude. This is hardly perceived by many, making them unaware by what force do they fancy something, someone, why they make choices. To sum it up, what makes up their engine is a complete mystery to many. Beyond the basic senses and conscience of the mind, lies our thinking souls, our demons, our fear.

The levels of conscience beyond the first three are rare. We all have it in ourselves, but we rarely ever learn to tap into it. The cause being, some are afraid of what they may find, others, not knowing how to. Or simply put, some are ignorant. They live life thinking there is no higher power, or they believe in fate, saying that things are meant to be and there is nothing they can do that will alter it. That attitude, is ultimate death. Acknowledging that you have no total control over anything in your life is to succumb to mortality, weakness. True, we are after all, mortals, but why make it so fragile? I will explain.

The other conscience is our imagination. It is a small tap into the near or distant future, the ability to differentiate things and know the reasons why they must be differentiated. The sixth sense gives you an instinct, some say, a gut instinct. The higher levels of conscience gives you the reason or makes you understand why you have these gut instincts. It doesn't leave you wondering why you do things for no reason, it brings you deeper into the world of your mind, expanding your horizon, seeing things in a different light, understanding things much better than the normal human being. You are aware of your every surrounding. You're senses are heightened, you feel more, you hear more, you see more. For example, ask a random person to look at a book and describe it. The basic human would tell you this:

"The book is thick. Written by Eric Matthews. The title is 'To Burn a Denver Bush'. Its cover is green."
There may be extra details, but this is not important.

But ask a person who is aware of his conscience and his surroundings, he will answer as such:

"Thick, yes, probably written when he was in the prime of his life. The hardcover suggests he meant this book as one of his better works, most probably protecting his experience in life, some of which he poured into this book. The color green also suggests that he liked to think that this book would bring hope, renew a persons understanding, that there still could be a chance of redemption. The title is vague, random, most probably a hidden meaning, something personal he experienced that affected his life, no matter on what scale. Eric Matthews, a strong family name, one of discipline, of tradition. Strong family ties. Yet the writer would have gone through a few rough patches, a vengeful ex girlfriend perhaps...... etc etc."

In short, this person is looking beyond the obvious, picking up probable ideas in the mist of his imagination. He may be completely wrong, and he may be absolutely right. You think this is impossible? It is not. We humans are all connected to each other, we have the same bodies, the same organs. There is nothing that makes us different. Only our judgement, our senses differ. But tap into the conscience, and all this will become crystal clear.

Till next time.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Purple Sunsets

I feel so alone sitting here.

Sometimes I feel like the movies I watch and the songs I listen to are the only friends I have that know my heart and my soul. They speak to me and listen to me. They comfort me when I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, they make me smile when I need cheering up, they keep me warm when I feel the chill of fear, they tell me stories that know one has heard before, they speak to me when I have no one to talk to. Without them I never would be able to get in touch with my true me. I love you, songs of joy, songs of tears, songs of faith...


Songs of me............

Monday, October 5, 2009

The Theme [1]

Almost instantly he missed the warmth of his dark room as he stepped out into the rain and into the dreary cold. Pulling his hood up, he turned the alley and walked to his car. He didn't like the rain so much today. Any other time, he would have gladly sat in the rain, smoking it away, deep in his own thoughts. But not tonight. The lights were on in the car lots, for that he was thankful. He lit a cigarette and took his time, drying off a bit before he unlocked the car doors, climbed in and started the engine. It purred, somehow telling him tonight it wasn't in the mood to run about in the muck. He was bored. He looked around the car, his eyebrows raised in childish humor as he spotted a pair of shades in the passenger seat. He smiled, slid them on, reached for the stereo, and listened for a while. Switching channels, he found that it was basically rubbish after 12 pm. He fumbled in the glove box for anything of interest and his hands rested on a disc. It was blank, he had no idea what was on it. Mumbling to himself, he put it on the stereo hoping it was something worth his time, something that suited his mood. It was. Malakai, he remembered it now. Smiling, he moved the car out of the shade and drove off.

He sat in the car, waiting. He was in another parking lot, this time without lights. It frustrated him slightly. He sat there waiting. It was early. The song and the rain made him forget time completely. Music pumped through steel and metal from the club across the lot, he had to turn up his own to ease the tension. He got ready. Patting down his pants, checking he had everything. He did. He always did. Hesitantly, he switched the engine off, stepped out of the car and slowly walked towards the flashing lights the club had on. The song still ran through his mind as he walked, he smiled, pulled down his hood. His shades were still on although it was dark, he just felt like keeping them on tonight. As he drew closer to the club, the girls recognized him and he them, all but one. This one was new, tall, voluptuous, fresh. He didn't like that. The girls looked down when he was at the entrance, but as he was about to enter, a hand stopped him. There were few things he detested in life, and this somehow was new to him. He usually got his way.
"Where ya think ya goin stud? This is for members only and you don't look like nothing of the sort."
She pushed him back.
"Beat it loser, now."
She was unaware of the looks the other girls were giving her. Stares of shock and horror. He saw them, and was amused somewhat. He stared at her through his glasses, saying nothing.
"What ya staring it huh? You like my tits?"
She grabbed her bosom and shook them.
"Like it yeah? Ain't no man the sort of ya will be coming near any tits."
She laughed, walked up to him and her leg swung up. If it had been a sport she would've hit some points, but no. She hit cold hard metal. There was a tiny crunch as she made contact, probably a bone or two crushed. There were gasps from the other girls. Hilarious now. But his anger flared. With a rush, he grabbed her throat, savagely choking her and slammed her into the wall behind her. As he held her, inch by inch, the knife hidden in the sleeves of his jacket crept toward her throat. Her eyes were fearless, but as she felt the blade prick her soft skin, her eyes were now defiant, with a hint of fear. His right hand was pressed to her belly, he mvoed it up to her chest and grabbed the soft perky flesh. It felt good under his skin. He moved closer to her and whispered in her ear.
"Not coming near any tits did ya say? Ironic isn't it?
Then he slowly slid his hands down her body, in between her legs. He felt her, smooth, silky. He tightened his grp, gently grabbing her. But her eyes had changed. No more defiant, no more fearless. Her eyes were scared as his hands felt her womanhood, his fingers prodding her though not entering her. He paused, looked into her eyes. He leaned forward again, closer.
"Virgin?"
She nodded, tears gathering in her eyes. He moved his hand away, placing it on her hip. In that second, by the will of madness, she had gone through him. Images rushed through his mind, feelings poured in, overflowed and ran empty. He noticed a girl beside him, Mary.
"Don't hurt her please. She's my little sister, she's all I got, please."
It was genuine. But he had never intended to hurt her. His job lay waiting, she had been a distraction, nothing more. He released his grip on the young one. She backed slightly away, breathing heavy. He turned to Mary.
"This is no place for someone so young. Why did you bring her here?"
"We don't have no place to stay for a bit. Times are hard y'know? We've been living up on Old Street, renting a place till I get sorted out. Or at least till I sort her out. I'm sorry, Dren, She didn't know who you are. I was going to say something but...."
"Forget it."
He stared at her, the young one, then turned to Mary again.
"Tell her to stay and wait for me till I get out. It won't be long."
Mary's eyes grew wide. He knew what she was thinking.
"Nothing of the sort Mary. Just tell her."
Mary nodded. He took one last glance at her, then went in.

The hardest thing about killing someone is that it's so easy. It's simple. Dealing with it is complicated to most, but for some, simple as well. He might as well be a machine. He got what he wanted. He exited he club, leaving it the same way he came in, music blaring, the real losers dancing their lives and money away. At the doors, the new shift of girls had taken over, they all knew him still and smiled fearfully at him. Jenny, one of the first girls he knew here, was a bit cheeky. She was standing further off from the doors, with her head cocked to one side, her eyes squinting at him, typical of her, just cheeky. She wasn't like the other girls, scared, she just lived her own life, didn't care about the rest. Feeling absurdly generous, he walked to her, handed her a small bag, ruffled her hair and turned to the lots. The bag contained at least a few hundred grand and a few pack of smokes he had grabbed off the victim. Without turning around she knew how she was reacting. First, wonder, second, shock, third, disbelief, fourth, amazement, fifth, probably gratitude, sixth? He didn't care. She needed it more. Her heard her heels clanking, running to wards him. He smiled as he turned around. She jumped on him, planting sloppy kisses all over his face, thanking him profusely. He looked at her as she looked at him, then they kissed. There was no emotion whatsoever of the romantic sort. It was just pure pleasure. Knowing that there are people in this world that look out for you is pleasure enough.

He looked around for the young one and spotted her. She was leaning with her leg up the wall some distance away from the club, near his car. She saw him, and he beckoned her to get in. As he watched her, he saw how beautiful she was. Her make up was messy, it made her look attractive somehow. As they got in the car, he knew she was still scared. Her older sister had probably told her who he was and what he might to do them both if she hadn't done what she was told. The fact she actually waited for him meant she had heard of him, but just did not know what he looked like. It was a reputation he wasn't proud of, but it just happened to be that way. He turned the music back on, turned it down, and drove off again, into the chilly morning and the heavy rain.

She was looking out the window, quiet. They hadn't said a word since they had left. He wasn't headed home, or anywhere. He wanted to drive. He wanted to think.
"Hungry?"
She jumped a little when he spoke, he almost burst out laughing at that. But he remained quiet. Stealing a peek, she looked almost awed at his question.
"Well? Are ya?"
"A little yeah..."
"Any place you'd like to have something? Anything, just name it."
She just looked at him in disbelief.
"Err, burgers. Yeah..."
"Burgers it is. There's a place at Winsley, called Splosh or something, good big burgers."
They were quiet again.