Of petty perceptions and heroes

Tales of mighty foes and valiant heroes…

Ponder on the idiotic perceptions of mankind about what is good and what is evil!

When in the morning you awaken and take leave for work, tell me:

Where are the fair kings in the shops on the roads along?

Where is the evil foe in the mines below?

And say, where is the white knight and the gentle princess in need, for when I long to be rescued or be the savior of one in peril?

Petty conceptions of our fantasies. Renewed tales of baleful times!

Look! Do not seek too far abroad!

There are acts of heroism and malevolence all around…

For even the simplest smiles and the mildest curses carry the seeds of good and evil.

PS: Meh, I like the final point, but the overall "consistency" is second rate. Sorry. :)

Comments

Tears

There in the distance a faint glow - a red flickering ball in the blue sky above. I see black smoke rising and a whisper of men and women screaming resounds in my ears. “Where am I?” I wonder, scoping my surroundings in curiosity. The floor is tinted in a bluish gray - the ground I’m seated on feels hard. I look to my right and see a steep hill rising. There are lush greens on the top, but the rising is a deep brown. “Uh- ah-” A tiny voice awakens left to me. I turn around and am amazed. There is a small girl lying just next to me dressed in an all gray gown. I observe her for a moment. I wonder if she’s alright. “Who are you little girl?” I ask her. Maybe I should have started with how are you doing, but my curiosity got the better of me. “Where-” she starts “am I? Who are you? What!” She stops in mid-sentence as she catches a glimpse of her clothing. “WHAT HAPPENED TO MY DRESS!” she calls out to me. “Calm down, will you? How should I know, I’m just as surp

A cycle of introspection

A voice from deep within asked him: "What is it that makes you whole?" In an empty desert, on a path chosen long ago, he stopped for a moment. He didn't wonder who the voice belonged to, he already knew. He always knew when his conscience was talking. As always, it kept taunting him or at least he thought it was. "I've given up on being whole long ago, I've accepted it... to be broken, to have fallen..." His voice was weary, tired even. Not from the endless walking, but from this ever repeating cycle of questioning. In a way, his answer felt rehearsed. This didn't justify thinking, so he didn't. An auto-response to an auto-generated series of questions. He had no answers, so why bother. "Must be nice, running away, avoiding the difficult questions, but there is an obvious flaw in your reasoning." Sometimes it scared him, this invisible voice. Ever so often, it would try to break the cycle by approaching him from new angles.

Words inspired by a failed year...

What do you want me to say? I have nothing for you. I have nothing for anybody. I have failed so many times at so many things I stopped counting. You want me to be “normal”? To behave “normal”, to act like society expects me to? I’m not that guy. I’m not that person. I’d rather wallow in dirt rather than accommodate to what the people around me expect me to be. Yes, I know what that means. I know what this kind of way of thinking will eventually lead to. I don’t care and I mean it. It’s not that I’m unaware of the consequences, I am, don’t worry. It’s just that I stopped worrying about things I may or may not achieve. A diploma, a marriage, a good life and a good fortune… no, everything I need is simple. If there is one thing I need to be aware of it’s my lack of submission to the truth of my existence. I’m not afraid of dying alone. I’m not afraid of never finding love. I’m not afraid of not making enough money. The only thing I can do is try. And as long as I try, it doesn’

Zmote on the Pen

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