The road that was never built
Sooner than later one has to regret to
expect, expect to regret. One cannot always appear to know that your
prized possessions, your social connections, your career status, your
authority, will allow oneself to find the sense of fulfillment
necessary to be compelled to have the striving drive, the longing
need, to know that around the bend, over the hill, at the end of the
road, something new, something more exciting, something more
mysterious, something more surreal lays ahead.
We are at a cross-roads, but we don't
have a map, now that we are lost, we don't know where to go. We
persecute the one that leads us down the road to finality, a quest
conquered, after years of abnormality. We have longed since then, to
set our souls free, to find a place of tranquility, yet we are around
the frame of mind, to control, and not to console the blind. We want
them all enslaved, because we are tired of seeing their faces, and
hearing their voices, their screaming choices, on the roads we have
paved. It was ours to create, it was ours to allow others to
participate, but the land of Exodus, is now no more, than a concrete
slab for the corporately defied whore of war. You'll see.
So the story goes, that there was a
man, that knew no bounds, he came here first to do his rounds. He
came to see, the love and beauty, he came to see the hate and the
jeopardy. He came to prepare for the greatest war ever fought, he
came to prepare for the greatest mind ever taught, he came to realize
that it was all for naught, for he was 38 years up-caught.
Life itself is a picture-story, that
has from behind the glazed common understanding based on societal
values, something terrible amiss. We believe we need to have much, to
be more, to be seen by many, to be someone, to be sociably connected,
to be attractive, to be considered.
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