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

the dark wings of a messenger bird

A veiled sun. A broken comet. A dark cloud. A pale moon. Omens of the past, carried upon the black wings of the messenger bird. Dark wings, ever darker words. There is no struggle without injury. There is no injury without hurt. Injury is a necessity. Hurt is a must. Gain is ever shrouded in lost. Life is ever shrouded in dreams. Broken dreams. We live. We seek. We desire. We choose. Yet, it is a novelty to understand the concept behind choices. We hold the right to choose between right and wrong, community and sequestration, duty and dereliction. We inherited this right since the first days of our forefathers. However, it is in this right, that all goes wrong. It goes by the momentum of claims that we possess a choice for what we eat, how we run our health, the path we carry our lives upon, and all else under the sun. But the circumstances that ever surround us would do no justice to the things we want. They distort the path we seek and take away from us the things we love. These words speak of a person. A single person of an utmost importance. The events that took place, the struggles ventured into, all to attain what was close to the heart. Yet all was taken away. When were my choices then decided and imposed upon me? Where lies the justice behind this injustice? Am I now a pawn of this accursed universe? Is my will to be bent to its damnable will? Am I now to be prey to the wishes of circumstance? Why was I be enforced to carry out deeds that would only cause me hurt? Why could this will without turn my own hand upon me? What is this unfounded pain? A pain that stretches its foul reaches onto others close to me, doubling the already heavy portions of mine own pain. All my dreams have been whispered away. All my hope bounded in shackles. By things without, all that I loved was taken.

Notsnhoj

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