The morning light was yet demanding. There was a taste
in my mouth of something long gone. I did not know how
the story was supposed to go from now on, but the
morning light was demanding action. I really wanted to
refuse the world in those empty mornings but that was not
a way to be.
What amazed me was that nothing really mattered
anymore – failure or success, not even love. It had become
almost shameful to still be capable to love and fall in love in
those ugly days.
There is terrible ugliness in the world, but there is also
sublime beauty. Bottom line is, at least the world is
knowable. Sooner or later, closer to the hearth or at the end
of the earth, the world gets to everyone.
It is like an arena theatre – where everyone can see everything from all sides. We just close our eyes to what others have in mind. It’s easier. And we put it all on the side, for later. Like the leftovers of your dinner that you ask the waiter to pack you for home. And then you go home, and put it in the fridge, and forget that it’s there because you are eating in a different restaurant the next day. And you find the leftovers months later, when they are already rotten, and you throw them in the bin, because you are disgusted by the look and smell. That is the truth. That’s what we do to the truth. And even if you are not doing so, it wouldn’t matter. Even if you take the truth and hug it, and kiss it goodnight every night, it wouldn’t matter. It would kill you. It would take out its little dagger and scratch pieces out of your face every night when you are asleep until one day you wake up and you just don’t look the same anymore. Because you’ve accepted too much.
The Spirit of Revolt appears in Issue V of the amazing Grind. You can check it out here:
Issue V Poster
He was like water to me – clear and transparent. I could drink him up in a breath but I didn’t want to. It wasn’t cool. He didn’t deserve to be forgotten so easily afterwards. Nonetheless, it is an interesting world that we are living in – everyone is trying to close their eyes and absolve their sins. But it takes more, so much more.
Comfort is the feature of the closed mind.
A voice it is, they say.
It is not even a whisper anymore, if you ask me.
My mind is gambling with `yes` and `no`.
Oh, what a performance of doubt.
Simply, there are people who are worthy to suffer for. But don’t take the short cut, never take the short cut.
There’s where the story stays.
How many times I’ll have to break myself before my pieces are all gone…You should make up your mind now, because my attitude towards your indecision will end up in an unpleasant way. My words stay silent sometimes, my pen, though, won’t spare you what you deserve. What troubles you you deal with by noon and then you are ready to mess it all up again. Fast and firm. All this is getting tense but it’s not starting to make sense
I’d probably prefer the little loveless at the end. Never mind all the troubles that he caused.
Sometimes in a far-away land,
we encounter close-to-us people.
Sometimes in them,
we find out needed freedom.