Time

Time has forgotten me.
Where did he or she go?
We used to do nothing for hours
I miss you.
Now I’m in a new relationship,
Such demanding mistresses!
They has trapped me,
I hate them, it won’t last
Such tenuous and fickle bonds rarely do.
I love my Time and I want you back,
Come back
Break these shackles
And my bondage to Obligation and Responsibility.
I miss you.

When will we progress?

The monopolisation of life, entitled to the wealthy and their slaves but for those of us that are, we suffer in silence. Living by their rules as we have no choice, engaging in life as we are forced to live it. We have to pay for the necessities of life, water, food and power, things that by now should be a human right. If it wasn’t for the rich and greedy we could have this. It saddens me that all these global institutions, governments, religious organisations or corporate entities are holding back the human race, stopping us from being so much more and to what end, power and control? Do they not care or do they only care about the monopolisation of life?

Blindness

Why do we all just sit here? Isn’t everyone as angry as I at the way things are? Are you content in you complacent and misinformed view of the world? You condone religicide being paid for by your taxes, one of the many things that keep us imprisoned, in the name of peace and then complain about the people it helps, the people in need, the poor and infirm. Your vision has been twisted and it is painful to see.

Vision

Are these imagined futures real? Are they possible outcomes of possible futures? Is the grief I feel at the loss of another, the grief of another me from a reality where this has happened? Is that joy I feel when I see a future I want, the joy of a happening reality, happening to me in another time? Or are all these worries and visions of the future nothing more than the product of my overactive imagination?

Creative Suffocation

Coerced into a life of domestic and public servitude. Our unrealised dreams crushed by the unnatural pressures of a mundane existence. Trapped between a post-war generation and a generation that can pursue their dreams. “You can be whatever you want. You must get a job!” Innocence, naivety and ignorance of youth abused by a heartless society driven by greed and status. People ask “If you could go back…?” You know, I actually might. Writing comes as easy to me as breathing, which it did when I was younger just as it does now; for a long time the unnatural pressures of a mundane existence and decent into escapist oblivion put a pillow over my face and smothered it out of me. I wonder, unhelpfully, where would I be if those words weren’t trapped inside for so long? Would it be better or worse? Has my suffering made me a better writer? Have my experiences given me a better understanding of the world of which inspires me to write? Impossible to know, yet here I am, wondering.