Leads his own troops to take out people who he dislikes-
Including folks that he thinks may be spies from the bordering tribe(s)
Is it that he has lost his mind?
Going to crazy lengths to keep things going the exact way that he wants and likes.
But it's not the way to go.
Why not just have a sit like most people do, to discuss what you think needs to be changed.
Instead of causing lots of destruction, bringing chaos among your own people who now hope and pray to see the light of a new day.
A moment in time where they are free from having such a person as the general, or ruler of the whole tribal groups.
Every person, old, young, girl, boy, woman, & man will do what they can to bring an end to this mad ruling.
Will the killings ever come to a total halt?
The second bottle thudded to the floor, clinking against the first. In reality, it wasn’t the second bottle, and its friend down there on the floor wasn’t the first, either. A more accurate way to classify it would have been “the second bottle of that night." The carpet was musty and stained throughout from the spills of hundreds of beer bottles over the last decade. Many of them still lay around, long empty. It didn’t take him long to drain them anymore.
Footsteps sounded in the room over. That was his daughter, clearing away the mess left by supper. They had ordered it, as always. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d eaten something other than pizza or take-out Chinese. Granted, she was barely thirteen. It wasn’t like she could be expected to cook for the two of them, and he certainly was in no shape to do so. He hadn’t been for a while now.
Her silhouette appeared in the doorway. She was so small, with hunched shoulders and limp hair. She seemed aged in a way that no child ever should.
If he had been sober, he might have sobbed but for the childhood she never had, should have had. The childhood he had never given her.
She all but tiptoed into the room, gathering beer bottles and other garbage as quietly as she could, like she was trying to fade into the shadows around the edges of the room.
If he had been sober, he wouldn’t have been able to stand the look on her face when she shot him a quick glance. It was a mixture of pity and disgust, but worst of all was the fear. Her fear. She was afraid of him.
It wasn’t his daughter’s fault. Of course it wasn’t. She had only been a toddler when it happened. Barely walking, the only words she had even known then were Daddy and Mama. But the latter had soon faded from her vocabulary.
If he had been sober, he’d still have been able to hear his wife’s scream, the squeal of tires, the crunch of shattering glass and twisting metal.
She was too young to remember. His only child held no memories of her mother, the beautiful woman that she was growing up to so closely resemble. All she had were empty bottles for company and that ugly gash on the side of her forehead.
If he had been sober, he would have realized that it had been him who had given that to her, to his own daughter. And before that, the black eye. He might have noticed her scars. But even if he had been thinking clearly, he wouldn’t have been able to recall the incident anyway. The beer made sure of that.
His daughter didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. With no way to remember her mother - even pictures removed from the walls, since the memories hurt him too much - she would never know how much her father had loved his wife.
If he had been sober, he would’ve been able to feel every ache that the painful memories brought with them. Every gash and every wound, reopened. He would have remembered exactly how much he had loved her. Unfortunately, he also would have remembered that she was gone. That fact was what kept him firmly planted in the moldy recliner, surrounded by an army of empty glass bottles. He didn’t want to remember.
Despite the terror lurking in the shadows of his daughter’s face, the remnants of the blood she’d tried to clean from her temple, and the way she kept to the edges of the living room, as far away from him as possible, there would be no changes any time soon.
There was nothing left in this world that could drag him out of the grave he’d dug himself. The only person that could’ve done that was his wife, but she was in her own inescapable grave.
Sobriety was no longer something he could handle.
i can’t hear you very well
we’re speaking the same language
but the words aren’t coming across
i look up, notice the wispy clouds in the sky
you look up, notice the sky between the clouds
no resemblence to the other
tell me Other Half,
who in the world speaks the language that unlocks my heart?
best for me,
have to do.
a beautiful person;
has to offer.
you and I
f r a c t u r e d
i t i n
A Darker Mind
The world is my enemy,
death is my crown,
alone are my memories,
silence is my sound.
Twisted are the streets
that walk away to me,
bloody are the creeks
that flow from me to sea.
Stolen time won't tick,
rickety is my clock,
darker is my wit,
I burn rather than walk.
Living, breathing, taking,
same is different to some,
wary is my waking,
darkling days have won.
The world is my enemy,
sin has become my crown,
bloody are my memories,
yet I will never back down.
Such a Liar....
he was mine, i know he was two days ago
i went to a weekend conference, business, classified
i left my husband in the hands of my friend,
it was a sweet gesture from my end, the two
my husband and my best friend, stay over
and look after my two year old daughter, Yvonne
little did i know that when i came back
things would be chaotic, i would be betrayed, vehemently
the taxi driver dropped me home, i chuckle,
"home sweet home, my little darling, mommy's back,"
i open the door and i see little Yvonne playing, alone
in the living room, and i see clothes strewn, everywhere
first i find a panty, and then my husbands underwear, scattered
i find his blue shirt i gifted him on our anniversary
i find my best friendJessica's jacket, purple, i recoil,
i take a huge breath and i open the kitchen door
i find them locked in embrace, body touching body
i slam the kitchen door and pick up Yvonne and leave
i stay at a hotel and i receive a ring, i dont answer their calls
i feel betrayed, betrayed by my own emotions of trust
i trusted my husband, i trusted my best friend, and they
only betrayed me, hurt me so cruelly, its the second day
iam staying at the hotel and i call up my lawyer, Nate
he tried to calm me down, wipe away my tears
but i wanted a divorce, and then he arrives on my doorstep
it was Jacob, my unfaithful husband, i push my nerves
"Why?" i sobbed, i take up a crying Yvonne, feed her milk
Jacob took a huge breath and sighed, "It happened...
i know there are no excuse for what Jessica and i did..."
I cry out, lash out at him, "Were you two ever going to tell me?"
Jacob shook his head, "No, i wasnt going to tell you..
Nor did Jessica... we wanted you to remain in our lives..."
i sob, i wanted to tear Jacob apart with the final truth,
"i am pregnant with a second child, oh, oh, oh...
i came home early from my conference just to tell you and Jessica..."
Jacob looked at me blankly and asked, "You will not abort the child..."
I shake my head in agreement, i ask him one final request,
"Please sign the divorse papers, Jacob. I will keep both of my kids..."
Jacob looked devastated, he nodded and said, "I will...for you,
if that is what you want..." and he signed the papers put on the table
i show Jacob to the door and and i shut it quietly, i sob...oh, oh, oh...
i touch my belly and i feel the little soul looking forward to a life
but Jacob was beyond explanation, he didnt tell me why he did what he did
i only know that love had just left my world, i pick up crying Yvonne
and i feed her until she's full, i know i wasnt merciful, iam not Jessica...
Introvert’s paradise: No one can understand them.
To the people whom you might consider as introverts or crazy you might be right,
But just remember they have the willpower to step into places not known to any,
Where everything is possible,
Where they surrender themselves to their conscience,soul and brain,
Which manipulates the dance and talks of universe,
Because they know that in detachment from world,
Lies the greatest wisdom of uncertainity,
In which lies the answer to questions like ‘who am I’ and why one should be an original and remain free,
And the freedom from our previous lives or past,be it known or unknown,
Which is the prison of past conditioning!!!
#challenge of the week.
Through the Eyes of Another
The mind is a strange thing, a mysterious thing, nothing is ever certain except the uncertainty of thought shaped by perception. The perception of ones own perspective and the perception of the perspectives of others as your own would tell you it is. To see through the eyes of another, such a thing may seem impossible, our own egos get in the way. Our own ego forces our perspective onto those we try to look through. How then do we free our minds from ourselves and fly free to see? Is it through dreams that we are free of ourselves when we are away from the reality and everything is as uncertain as the mind? Perhaps it is and if that be the case then let me tell of a dream I had of the world through the eyes of another.
I wake my body heavy, head spinning as I stare up at the dingy ceiling above, rising to see the mess around me and find it fitting. I amble and shamble my way through the shack to a rack of clothes. What squalor I live in but why bother? Not like I do anything but sleep here and all is in its place for my needs. To live in the squalor yet find comfort in the familiar setting and musk. Who am I? My name is not my own, my body not my own, my face not my own. Yet it was all my own now. I could see words staring at me from a screen, a challenge and insult refuting me, something that must be answered.
Now I sat calls coming in on many lines. Surrounded by machines like me, “Hello how can I help you?”, those words forming an endless cacophony about me. We are nothing but living machines here speaking by rote scripts laid out before us. We speak words barely hearing them or those we talk to, it has all become routine, and those around me don’t care they are just machines unlike me. I tell myself that just as they must surely think but they aren’t me they are just like everyone else except that one that I find infuriating.
The day was done and I walk my way home under the hot sun. Checking those messages and answering more words from others on a screen of colored lights. I return convinced people were jealous and plotting that I was sure as I was before. Was it for the sake of drama and the amusement of such that I made those accusations or is it what I truly believed? Perhaps I convince myself even and fooled myself to their obvious reactions and meanings.
My words change from day to day but the patterns of my actions remain the same. As do those of others I realize. The dream starting to fade. The same traps often ensnare everyone, from such common connections can we begin to understand them, these things that affect us all with no regard to our own ego. To see through the eyes of others and understand those things that are shared and where things are different. The lives of others can be incomprehensible but through brief glimpses can some understanding be gained. Those glimpses of shared events allow insight into those parts we can’t as easily understand. We might not ever understand all of someones life or the things they say or do but letting go and forgetting we can in part understand.
“And just a couple of blueberries. Bring in those antioxidants!” she giggled to herself preparing her daily smoothie.
She went through her morning routine, a harmoniously synchronized ritual that took years to bring to the perfect state it was in today. The last step was to carefully tuck in her agenda in the purse. The agenda was her treasure, her main source of pride and joy. It was filled with colored paper markers sticking out, none of them out of place, they were each pointing to a specific page where the neatest handwriting indicated an important color-coded reminder.
She left the house very early, as she usually does, to avoid the traffic, but also to still arrive to work in time in case there would be heavy traffic. She hated the lack of control over her commute, but she was satisfied with her precautionary measures. She loved her job as an executive assistant to one of the main partners in the company. She was happy to show off her exquisite organizational skills and it made her feel important, after all, the partner would be completely lost without her.
In the office, she placed her purse in its designated spot next to her desk and took out the agenda. She would look though it and have a few smoothie sips while the computer was booting up.
That’s when she saw it, smoothie stuck mid-swallow, shock filling her eyes, in red ink and followed by three exclamation marks: “7:00 AM - Come to work one hour earlier and prepare the meeting room for William!!!”. She looked at the clock: 7:38 AM! She dropped her beloved agenda and ran towards the meeting room. Through the glass door she saw William, her boss, sitting at the meeting table and listening to the presentation that was going on. She analyzed what she saw. Did he have his laptop? Yes, but the charger was not there! What if the battery runs out?! How could William contribute to this meeting with a non-functioning computer?! Did everyone have drinks? They seemed to have gotten coffee from the kitchen, but where were the biscuits? People will want to relieve the bitter coffee taste and there were no biscuits! She looked closer at William’s face. Did he seem upset? Was that a frown? He must have been looking for her, needing her and she was just not there!
She started feeling cold and hot at the same time, vision blurred, knees giving in. She ran to the bathroom and into the first stall. Hands shacking on the lock as she slowly melted to the ground. The boulder sitting on her chest was making it difficult to breathe. “How could you forget?! How could you be so stupid?! William will hate you! And he should. You messed up really bad!” In matter of seconds she went through the scene of her boss yelling at her, leading to her inevitable firing, the impossibility of her finding a new job, because who would hire a failure?! And then the image of her mother’s disappointed face, the same strict expression that has been staring down at her for her whole life.
After a few minutes that seemed like hours, she came back to the present and realized William’s meeting will be ending soon and she should be there to face the music. She stood up, unwrinkled her clothes, combed her hair with her fingers and slowly walked back to her desk.
William finally came back from the meeting. Let the storm begin…
“Hey Laura. How’s it going? Oh, before I forget, can you set me a reminder to look through the March sales report before the end of the week? Thanks!”
People just don’t get me!
People are so cruel and ugly.
They fail to see the brilliance that is I. They turn everything i say and do into something bad.
I make stupid typos and it’s not my fault. I might be writing the sequal to Hamlet, but people would pick on how I spell crap like “thee”.
Everything for them is the outside surface.
And their outside-surfacy-thinking-thing is just the beginning.
They can’t stop talking about bad things.
They keep bringing up my bone spur, and my racism.
Racism? You tell me. My daughter married a Jew and I didn’t say anything, but maybe it’s good. He might be good at business or something.
I hired other Jews for the same reason.
I’m really an all-rounder when it comes to races. I hired that Amarosa girl. And After that she went to the news fakers...
But you don’t know. You can’t know how people will behave. The point is I gave people chances.
And they blame me for working on some shady stuff.
Well. That is everybody. Everybody.
People who live in glass houses should remember to not throw stones. I mean, it stands to reason, that if you get a glass window, you don’t throw stuff at it.
And they do. All they pick at, is how people helped me.
HELPED me. They were nice enough to help me, because they liked me. Blame me for that..
People like me.
And if they want to give me help, who am i to turn it down?
So what if they were from another country!
Is that a problem for you?
Another example of just how un-racist i am.
But they just pick on that.
And the people that work for me. Some of them are the best. The Best. Then some others go and think how to betray me.
After all i did for them.
All the opportunities i gave them to take it back, to recant what they told the investigators..
they never see they owe me. Because I’m too nice about things.
And everybody forgets what an international presence I am. Everybody likes me.
Even terrible, terrible people, somehow they can’t help but like me.
They smile and shake my hand.
Because they like me. And if people like you, you can start talking business with them.
I make friends everywhere i go.
My wife, my daughter, that’s another thing I’m proud of.
They work hard, and they get respect. They really mean much to those women’s lib girls.
They all know that finally, there are women in the government doing things. I made that happen. Before me, it was all men.
But then those news fakers get things and ridicule them.
Why must things be like this?
Why can’t my time be spent taking care of business?
Businesses. This is what i do.
I’m a self-made man. No one handed me the keys to the kingdom, like that hag in London.
Even that people ridiculed.
I did my best. I really did. Not my fault she didn’t like me.
They even make fun of what i eat!
I mean it’s none of their business I’m crazy about burgers.
Who are they to criticize what i put in my mouth?
That is up to me. Keep things professional and don’t get into petty stuff. All I’m asking. All I ever asked is to get a fair shake.
Not like Obama, who everybody liked, but secretly hated. He made choices, he did things.
The separated babies. That was a hard call. But it’s something i couldn’t help.
We set rules about immigration. And these guys just keep coming.
Why can’t they stay where they came from?!
Can’t they make things nice and pretty over there?
We can make burgers and so could they.
Everybody can make stuff.
So why don’t they?
And then there would be no reason to come over here, and get separated.
And it was not the best. But people forget about mistakes that others made. Like Lincoln starting the first world war.
I just had to deal. Just like him.
Well, I guess i get too
passionate about doing things.
I wish things were different. I wish it was all smoothed out. Like a nice day of golf.
But this is the real world. And sometimes, you face difficulties.
Believe me, it happens.
But I’ll tell you what, I take comfort with one thing:
Someday, everybody will look at all this and they’ll be sorry they didn’t appreciate what they had.
They’ll be sorry. They’ll beg me to return. But I might be doing other things then. More important things.