the sands of time

The sands of time. A term that speaks of a whole new grey world. A world where time has slowed to the point where each tick is a lifetime. A distortion on the face of a clock. A world where each day is a year, each minute is an hour, and each second a millennium. The sands of time. A world where humanity hangs at a pause to watch all the sands of the deserts flow through an hourglass. An age of ennui. The sands of time. An eternal pause. Of silence.

Notsnhoj ancuz Clapase
Saph-oins quinjyo nopa ul pevra"quinjyo veok pevra"malgeun.

the collapsing of the world

And so they lied. I had been in grief over the recent sudden collapse of my world. I had clawed and scraped along the sides of my heart amidst my agony. I had been cast aside like a rag, no longer to be deemed an entity. And I was in pain. Then they came. The words of comfort, the precious hug, and the beautiful painting of the future. I was greatly cheered. I found the smile I thought I had lost. I croaked the laughter long stuck in my throat. My pathetic naive self had lost the battle of wits. I had been standing in a room of curtains where all my vision was impaired. I was informed of what lay beyond the curtains in words I foolishly took for truth. All of a sudden, the grief returned, the agony took root, and the pain expressed itself more than ever. Once again, I forgot the art of smiling. My lips only twitching at the odd angle on the odd occasion.

Notsnhoj

the beginning of terror

A bitter siege. A dark one, where I am trapped within knowing little of what was happening without. With my eyes covered with more than sand, I was more than oblivious to my surroundings. Yet they have come. They have started. And they have ended it. They took all I ever held dear. This is the bitter A siege I have no hold upon, where all I do is done as good as its absence.

Notsnhoj

the bettering of our world

Let them cry upon the bosoms of their mothers before they face their fates. Let them run away lest the day come where they run no longer. Let them them suffer beyound all understanding of pain. Let death itself awaken them from their folly. To rid the world of impurities. To cleanse our lives by removing the bad elements. Those selfish entities that exist to revoke the pacts and to destabalise the peace. How that mortal men claim their own claims. How that no common understanding shall be accomplished. Would that our society be run by the decisions of one wise man. So that all would be as such, and none other way. So that the eternal river would flow without disturbances and obstacles. So that all would be served and plans made to success. Would that the masses put aside their foolish claims. Why fight when one bears no sufficient intellect to spawn ideals worth of notice? Would that those that rebel be hidden from the better side of the world so we need not taint our eyes. Would that some would cease to exist, and others more so.

Notsnhoj

the conditioning of sufferance

I have found the cause to this inability to lay down the scripting of the occurances within my most recent existence. It presides in an accursed founding. The very source of all that was written came from what used to be a boundless fountain of emotion. The riches and sweetness that flowed forth brought untold quantities of words of wisdom, exhilaration and hate. Yet all has come to a seemly end. Now that the void has consumed, and all emotion has turned void. I shed tears that come forth from dry eyes, my laughter rings out no further than my throat, I speak in a manner unchanging as the sands of the desert remain unchanged through the centuries that have rode across them. There will be no sparkles that proceed from my veil-lidded eyes. Whatever is turned upon my tongue, all would present themselves a blander entity than a starless sky. From the strong wines of the west, the aromatic spices of the east, the savoury meats of the north and those sapid of the south. All would only prove I had no taste and no tongue to confess it. The world flashes by but I only hold one dead stare just to see its procession pass by. Would they seem naught? Would it be that all I once enjoyed belong to another and I remain engaged in this bland mindless battle against the oblivion?

Notsnhoj