the monotony of life

The monotony of life. A freeflow of the constant. A glorious bloom of ennui. A non-existence of interest. A collision of stars where their brightness is dulled. The darker side of the truth. This is the monotony of life. In the crux of your crisis, when faces appear before your eyes, you feel comforted by their company. But then you realise their silence and their revolving attention. You see their hollow eye sockets and their gapping yawning mouths. Your wishes have been denied and rejected. They took you a mile away, raising your hopes and deepening your desires. Then they cast you off as if they had no intentions whatsoever to even have the slightess of communion with you. It would have been as though they forgot your very presence from the beginning, and took you along merely on impulse and by accident. All that you expended in that one mile expedition is then disregarded. Nothing was returned for your efforts. The fault illuminated the path they trod, every step of it, becoming the same entity that they were. Then they laughed. They laughed a loud laugh. The chorus of their laughter drove away the squirrels and the rodents, the sparrow and the lark, the deer and the bear, everything that stood for the peace of nature. The sheer pressure of their vile laughter elevated the fault off their shoulders. Whatever wrong they accumulated within them was made right in the eyes of their laughter. This is because you are an irregularity. You stood alone in a multitude of wrongness. People laugh at irregularities to justify their own actions and to make them seem like the norm. They laugh off the responsibility and the consequences. You may try to dispute. Each word that impugns their authority-by-majority exists as what tantamounts to an entity of spite. Your then vindictive and callous nature will give them reason to collectively deprecate you. You are the bitter one. The focus has now changed. All memories of their wrong forgotten. You are a violation of the peace. Numbers always win. You suffer. It happens. All the time. The monotony of life. A freeflow of the constant. A glorious bloom of ennui. A non-existence of interest. A collision of stars where their brightness is dulled. The darker side of the truth. This is the monotony of life.

Johnston

the reason behind this service

I lie amongst a world of quiet. I see a multitude of tiny blades of grass running in every direction. Away from me, to the ends of my imagination. Their little bodies shivering each time the cold wind blows. Off in a distance I see the vast expanse of flora form up the horizon. Their isolated emergents reaching for the heavens in all of their majesty. The pale moon and its starry host commune above whilst the misty clouds and darkness envelope them. I hear the cries of the crickets, the geckos, and the birds of the night. Peace. Quietude. I hear a shout. I hear more shouts. With a pack on my back and a rifle in my hand, I rise up. My neck is aching. My back is straining. My hands are shivering. My legs can hold no more. We move. We run. It never ends. Would have it been without reason that I do what I do, I would not have done it. It is by a rigid law I stand by that cannot be abolished. It has existed since generations before and will not be uprooted in the generations to follow. The authenticity of the reason itself cannot be reasoned against. I speak of the existence of an entire living system involving the loved and the unloved of those whom we know. I speak of the noble morality behind ensuring the preservation of their actuality. These people are the reason. The endangering of their lives. The threat of a stolen future. The imperilment of their entire macrocosm collapsing. All these would be too much to bear had these been of truth. What joy would exist when we are sequestered from our bonds. What use would it be if all were gone and we stood in solitude to face hindrances of this world. This would be why I do what I do.

Johnston