I feel the pain of a knife pierce through my heart each time the shovel thrust into the soil. Every scene written on these pages is annotate with vivid explaination to bring life back from my death. My dirty forehand wipe drips of sourish sweat from my mouth. I throw the shovel into the moist ground. The shovel blade bury itself halfway with its handle stuck upright, stand there under the full moon tonight like a tombstone for a burial ground. Death is art in the eyes of the beholder. I repeat those last words he screamed at me, “Nothing personal. It’s business.”, and stroll back to the car. In my thought, “You’re hiring a new publisher agent?”, I grin, “It’ll be Stranger in The Night.”, the perfect plot for my one and only fan, “You.” My hire killer gave me his sweet and caring smile. I kiss him back.
“At the reading of the will the attorney did say the property needed a bit of work, but he didn’t say the place was haunted.”, he sound dismay of this horrifying crime scene on his property. “I could have sell this place for a fortune.”, and walk away angrily. In my years coordinating with the town’s crime division, I could even barely look at this lifeless mutilated naked teenager. Drenching of blood on these wooden floor with two strong broken chain lock to the wrist. These bedroom walls are cover with odd symbolic hand drawings. She perfectly sequester herself for dark ritual. A small community living in this town believe she is practicing witchery and glad she die in her own hands. I notice there are pieces of odd rotten animal skins with blood in her finger nails upon closer inspection. Looks like someone didn’t kill her – it’s something.
My mind fizzle with letters into words; forming sentences after sentences throughout the stormy night. Stomping aimlessly in my mind with words forming vivid imagery scene. The mind is a wonderful playhouse. God’s greatest gift for his most beloved creation here on earth. I do believe life is suppose to be written on pages. Thoughts staying alive. A voyeur experience to some who love reading the pain and pleasure of others in the shadow. Encouraging them with standing ovation, applauding aloud to encourage indecent exposure. We are convince there is reality in fiction. Why not? Are we not here to play a role in life to be somebody; the world is a stage. The show begin when the curtain rise. As far as the eye can see are empty seats waiting to be fill. A blank script in my hand awaiting to have a dialogue with me. Mask my role.
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. – William Shakespeare
Make Peace with Your Broken Pieces ― r.h. Sin
Not one person I know have not being sad about something in life. Sadness is part and puzzle of emotion, but it can sometimes be just selfishness leading to sorrow, depression and a broken personality. Children having no memory of their mother in the early years of growing up, may not notice loosing something of significance in life to wallow in sadness. Until they grow up to ponder on their loss of a mother love. I have witness eyes swell with tears for these children; pitying them. It is not always about life’s relationship. Sadness can come from loosing something of valuable resources or material possessions; could be something of sentimental in value. Life is better to sow than to own, because nothing really last forever in life; grow to evolve. Like the expansion of the universe continuing or enduring forever. We can only lose what we cling in life.
The Daily Post: Broken
Everything is ceremony in the wild garden of childhood. — Pablo Neruda
I grow up leaving behind the many simple ritual I perform randomly in my everyday life. Most of the these simple things is done with finesse and care. My curiosity mingle with everything I sense surrounding me as a child. I play and eat with my food as a child, I talk to thin air as though they were my best friend forever as a child, or stay up to watch the moon turn into the sun as a child, only to fall asleep and wonder what happen as a child. Again and again. My childhood days can be seen as an event of ritual significance, performed like a special occasion. Until one day I just stop being a child. A coming of age ceremony was perform to make me aware that child has gone. I grew up. Today, I wonder has he gone forever in my life; doubt it.
The Daily Post: Ceremony
Believe nothing no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and common sense. – Buddha
Those desperately seeking shelter from pain of life can find themselves spiral down the most twisted madness. Something not any human mind can ever dare imagine in their lifetime. It usually starts with a harmless and fulfilling celebration with close ones. Only to realize everything is not what it seems to be and ending in a horrifying bloodbath. Clarity came too late for some of these believer. Cult mass murder is not new across any civilization throughout history. From Vietnam ritual suicide of self-immolation in the east, to America Heaven’s Gate cult based belief suicide of the west. Twisted ideology mask as religion to eccentric beliefs in extraterrestrial life. A dangerous cult group traits can usually be dictatorial in nature, isolating themselves by disregarding opinions and ideas other than their own, discourage independent thinking and fear of being deny within their group; sadly the world can be in twisted order.
The Daily Post: Twisted
Sometimes I wonder if I’m as famous for my wheelchair and disabilities as I am for my discoveries. – Stephen Hawking
I walk through the door of a restaurant, and the first thing I would search for in any menu is the recommendation from the chef or special of the day, and obviously I would not even think of having the same meal again the very next day in that same restaurant. Famous is like flavor of the day. A publicity; or stunt to become famous can come and go like the season or wind. It is not suppose to be the goal, but a means to an end. The dedication to excel in something, in becoming a successful person is better than being famous. Public relation expert will tell you money can buy instant fame as an investment; it is no-brainer. Instant fake links and likes on social media is not surprising, but being real does these days. We, as human make mistake, and not faking perfection to be famous.
The Daily Post: Famous …
Let me give you some advice. Assume everyone will betray you. And you will never be disappointed. – Solo: A Star Wars Story
Being “Solo” with a story. I walk out of the cinema feeling reborn, renewing my faith in Star Wars universe, a galaxy far, far away. I did lost my path going to the dark side with all of the latest Star Wars monotonous and predictable story telling; but Solo – a Star Wars Story is refreshing. Solo’s cocky attitude is still there and how he got himself into the pilot seat of Millennium Falcon as the most sleazy and witty smuggler of the universe, slithering his way around the most crookest mind there is to be; and living his life in the moment at all times is what I love him for it. All of that to cover his vulnerable personality, after all he is the good guy playing hero for the day to everyone. How should I call you? Han. Han what?! Han Solo; brand new story to tell you.
Everything that’s created comes out of silence. Your thoughts emerge from the nothingness of silence. Your words come out of this void. Your very essence emerged from emptiness. All creativity requires some stillness. – Wayne Dyer
Staring at nothingness.
Wondering what to write. Word after word forming sentences. Hoping it would eventually made sense of something worth telling. Everything is motionless; as though they were suspended in time. Numb fingers are floating above the keyboard. Both index fingers twitches occasionally, the dull mind awaken but stay speechless. Silence is golden.
Staring at nothingness.
I am here waiting for it to happen; anything. Nothing happen. Again and again; I try. Failure is when I quit trying. Every step forward is still progress. No matter the speed forward is forward. Flashes of endless memory. A deep breath in silence.
Staring at nothingness.
A face I so longing to remember, but it was never meant to be. Life is as it is; for better or worse. I don’t understand then, and never will. His mighty works on my one and only life; being here.
Staring at nothingness.
Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind. – Bernard M. Maruch
Most of the people I know consider me as recluse, having a weird and freakish behavior. I don’t consider myself as one because I do talk to myself openly. The truth is nobody can love me more than myself. In fact, I am pretty good at doing it all the time; talking and loving myself honestly. I don’t need an audience to listen to me. Like they say three is always a crowd. Most of the time it is just entertaining when I am getting along with others socially. How brutally honest can you get with others in public? We are always bind to be cultural norm by the greater society. Being polite in public is good behavior, even if you have to tell little white lies. By all means it is alright to sell your soul to the devil for a penny; really stink like “dead-poo” idea to me.