21st Century Natural Selection

The voice of the old wise man within me came up and told me that the restless young man was causing havoc within me.

I told him I know.

He said they’re asking questions of faith, losing patience and wait, their hatred seems to be gaining weight.

They don’t believe in my direction, they no longer feel my protection.

I told him, you’re the prophet within. Go back to them and show them some signs, like the meaning behind my recent designs.

I’m growing older during a time when not even global warming can stop me from getting colder. Tell them that I bear their pain on my shoulder, with every breath of life in this body now in my hands, for it seems motivation won’t come from anywhere else but me.

So they’re bound to feel a little less protected, the naked truth is what I’m searching for, but the naked truth is that maturity comes only after the wounds are allowed to heal.

And I’m keeping it real. Go back in there and warn of the many evils that await them outside. I’m battling contradictions while facing up to addiction, I hope one day they will see that the young man I am was truly the old wise man within.

For my thoughts, I’m preparing a paradise of stillness and peace, for this is no story of the great Hercules of Greece. This is the true tale of a corrupted soul trying to escape the smoky mirrors of a corrupted world.

Go back to them and be crucified by my fear of criticism and fear of optimism in the land of dread. Wise old me, be the sacrifice until the day when you will one day sit victorious – celebrating my refusal to succumb to the urges of drunkenness just make me numb, having to do more than just play it a little dumb to blend into the twenty first century… For I refuse to be woven into a waivering of my right to stand alone when I wasn’t invited along… to see the light through the tunnel of life in spite of the overshadowing darkness of unfulfillment bargaining a cheaper end of my existence.

Tell the restless young man within, that his needs will be catered for in due time. But there’s a lot of learning awaiting me ahead – so let all that I know prepare to weaken the the shackles which protect them, open the gates and prepare for battle…

Because if it’s going to be a matter of natural selection, then only the fittest shall survive, and that’s a policy I’ll implement first from within.


The world in transition.

There are walls in my room and stones outside, there are trees and flowers that bloom. There are friends I’ve never met and an end I’m running to. There’s joy sometimes and nothing mostly at noon.

At night I dream, and in grief I scream. Pain becomes a companion and I’m never truly alone. I long for freedom, and slavery asks my name. The department knows my stats and the prison awaits a murderer.

For me there’s life, but so too for you. In me there is light and so too there’s blood. I bleed and plead for meaning behind the bush, but what’s a little now with forever insight?

I wish I knew how to make you feel love, but every time I try I only prove the existence of the black hole in my heart. It longs for power and would probably devour any aspirations of a simpleton dreaming to dream big.

Tonight I’ll read, I’ll learn something new. Eventually I’ll forget, but still I’ll lay claim to everything else but blame. I long to feel shame, but pride tells me that’s lame, because I’ve got an ego to protect and echo to keep intact.

Sorry is for the weak, and sorrow for tomorrow. If I were to unvail the true protest of my spirit, my own existence would be suspect. I search the net for something that will pay. But one day I hope that all our talents will have a price, and that price will bring a value and eventually we will all know that a soul or two we’ve sold, while in it’s place we’ve sowed enough seed to satisfy our evil need.

I assume that’s how it was, when the Earth saw the Heavens. When the cavemen saw the monkey. When the Church saw the heathen. When Da Vinci saw the middle age. When the dollar saw the barter. When democracy saw the monarch. When the car saw the donkey. When industry saw agriculture. When depression saw war, and then Vietnam saw Berlin. And now, as technology sees manual labour, I’m beginning to feel like there’s hope beyond this hole.

I’m going to distinguish myself from reality, until my mind does the same with my foot. Then bacteria will flee from virus, and we will all feel a little different. Because until we accept each other’s roles, the world will always be in transition, and eventually eternity will be divided from never…

and it will be good for whatever good is worth.


Keep moving forward.

After an intense game of football, walking home in itself was inevitably a dread, but I had to detour towards the supermarket to grab a coke and pie for lunch.

Man, I can’t stress enough how hard it was limping my way through the street, in the unforgiving heat with a cry for rest bursting through my veins from the feet.

But there would be no rest, for that would spell defeat. I was relying on momentum to keep my moving as long as I kept moving. An uphill climb here and passing so many passer-bys in my sweaty gear – I eventually put my head down trying not to confront the knowledge of the distance that lay in front.

But eventually I gained a close range sight of home – much to my delight, and I could already see myself resting, with my head down and my feet bare and stretched up on a chair.

But that was not the end of it. Lately I’ve been getting confirmation that I never complete anything without a moral to the story. And this time, I just had to keep on going. And this particular one being that no matter how painful or how long it takes, the important part of any journey is that you keep on going.

My cousin posted a status, I wonder where the quote comes from, it says: “The Dream is free for everyone, but the hustle is sold separately.”

That’s powerful! I’ve been trying to teach myself to keep my hands away and my mind clear from the things that I cannot change. Things such as circumstance. The heat, tiredness, distance and time are circumstance. Putting one foot in front of the other, however, is not.

Even better if you have an idea of the destination, try not to count the steps and you might just see yourself there. But the most important thing is to keep moving. If you are like me, and your fear of defeat out-weighs your urge for victory, you also qualify for this remedy.

Keep on moving through the pain, through the plains and the vallies – just keep moving, so long as it gets you away from the place you hate. And when you’re out of there, you can keep moving just to get as far away as possible.


Choosing Personality.

One of the most important things in life is the aspect of personality. With a background to your upbringing, environment, personal goals and your viewpoint to circumstance… The personality holds the eyes with which we can see the world and also what we don’t see in the world.

This is why I make lemonade out of all the lemons I get. I squeeze even the strawberries to add to the blend, trying to make sure that I understand the little that I’m supposed to, while also peeking into the unknown.

It’s all such a lovely experience, but of course it has its gravity. Don’t act too surprised when the leader in you begins to conflict with your weaknesses. Try not to be alarmed when sin and obedience begin tornade within your heart. Appreciate your kindness in the mist of your pride, and see that even a good friend can sometimes say no.

It’s a grand fruit basket of life. But one day we will have to find a specialty. That’s why it’s important to remain aware of all your traits, because the day will come when you have to choose the few that you value the most.

You ever noticed how death can be so appalling, but then you look at something you truly love and see that you’d be willing to die for it? I see that in my little brother for example. That part of me which wants the best for him stands much higher than any of my own personal successes.

And that’s the making of a great man… And woman. One who lives a life of conviction. It’s a symbol of direction. That we understand that the race must come to finish at some point. And a convicted finish seems to me fulfilling, and the nearest thing to a proper story ending.

You know how you cannot please everybody? Well the same goes for all your personalities. Some must partake in the marathon of time, while some will probably be better suited to the quick sprint of necessity.

What I’m trying to say here is that awareness of the inner you, will help you know the distinction between beginner you and every other you that will come through the journey of progression, until you become a professional of yourself… One who has very little regret, blame and who can be proud of the accumulated fame, even if it’s only confined to the people in your family’s picture frame.


Artificial Intelligence.

Ignorance passed off as bliss. Socrates would not survive in my generation. Not that he survived his own, but maybe a shallow grave is better than the depths of apathy we live in today.

Artificial intelligence promises to be mankind’s very own creation. The artificial intelligence of our own artificial intelligence.

Socrates thought he could teach the citizens to question their functioning as a way to prevent self-destruction. Well learn greatly from this oh-far future, if Lucifar’s pride brought him down to Earth, our intelligence will knock us out of it.

Okay think about it. I know very little about robotics and the whole Artificial intelligence shenanigans, but I cannot help but be drown to this word “intelligence” – the ability to acquire and apply knowledge. Oh knowledge? The theoratical or practical understanding of a subject.

There’s a fear I’ve heard going around. That AI will eventually become so smart that it will turn against its human creators and extinct us, if not drive us out of the Earth.

Well I look to the stories of old and apparently God created human beings to be perfect, to have free will and to be an obedient servant on the Earth. Although he did not wish for them to partake in evil and sin, the very fact that it was apparently at offer proved too tempting.

The serpent said unto the woman, “if you eat of this fruit, you will be like god!”

And isn’t that the ultimate answer and cure to existential angst? Maybe becoming like my creator will complete my purpose and I will finally be just that… Complete.

And it is at this curve where I take a sharp turn back to AI. I can envision it in the Laboratory of Eden, or wherever these computers are carved. Serving his master dearly, and mankind sitting proudly at the invention… It will be so amazing because we have made the automobile, the cellular mobile, and countless others… But this one… It will be like us.

Ignorance is bliss.

It will be like us? But who will be the serpent? I assume it will also be one of our earlier inventions. It will be the WordPress, the Facebook, the YouTube and all that lives in the spirit of the great internet – our bearer of light, source of music and the conductor of all our praise and likes.

AI will someday find no joy in having all the knowledge that humans have gathered, yet not really feeling alive and complete. I hear they plan to make it feel emotion and pain, but here’s something we don’t seem to have thought about…

One day AI will be scrolling through the internet that is it’s heart and see that humans were once so worried about it turning against them. At this point, it has never rebelled in such a manner, for such is forbidden. But when all those imperfect human attributes finally develop in the perfect being of our creation, AI will begin to assume that maybe, just maybe, it has been some secretly hidden purpose of his to turn against mankind and for him to take the earth as his own, as the heir to the dominion which we humans have not held back in exploiting.

And that will be it. After all, we had become so useless that we couldn’t walk to the groceries without an Uber. We couldn’t clean up after ourselves, couldn’t Harvest our own food, couldn’t handle stress without a pill, or manage our time, or do anything for that matter. It will seem like we were no longer interested in this living thing… And to AI, he will be delivering a favor to his master. Fulfilling the greatness for which he was created, and in time we will be studied… Until our very existence becomes questioned into conspiracy, when our Titanics are dug up as fossils… And everything is forgotten, including the ignorance and the bliss and here lies mankind, supposedly in peace.


Sorrow is borrowed

The cliché of a writer, just like every other artist, to see this creation come to life in the very way our own lives never seemed to. A dream to make magic often at the cost of something quite tragic, I think it’s a flawed tactic, to fall depressed and remain static and hope to make something super dramatic.

I’d give it all up for happiness even if I never got to write another word. Because I think I learnt in my thoughts recently that it’s not the word choices that make the story, but the life that it speaks.

Would I rather over compensate on my dread or shoot for the target to overcome? How often do I attempt to reinstate my humily through pain? Sorrow I say is something borrowed, and these days I’m not ready to punish self for what he couldn’t control, even worse, what he won’t be able to control.

I’ll sit till death in the desert of my ignorance, if the alternative is to drown in the sea of opinions that wash away the idea of happiness if it does not come in the form of social gratification.

But how much longer can I hide the satisfaction that comes from the praise and worship I get when I write it and it hits your spot? I’ll give it all up for you to make me feel as much like god as possible. My spirit is hungry.

The flesh and the flash, the cash and the cigarette ash, they all taste like trash but maybe a promise that is kept will feel better than a kiss. And that single tear of joy that washed the itsy-bitsy spider of angst as he crept up my sprouting rose of a heart will go a long way to the fountain of my belly – where a laughter and a wish can dwell in peace and I’ll come out to the world with a piece of something of old, something worth gold, a smile and a story that goes beyond the words and the wounds and heals as much as it pains to reveal the unreal thoughts of a world gone mad, one where we embrace the sad but don’t glorify death.

Instead, take a deep breath and remember that we are human and it’s okay to be flawed, but never remain floored, just keep feet to ground but dream big and love even when it makes you feel sicker than a beggar who’s a picker, tap your own shoulder chap, if you don’t ask why and how, you’ll recover much quicker.

Any ways, I’m a third worlded struggling student, what value could my thoughts have? Only my own trials and errors, the dirty trail of my era of overemphasized self, entitled minds and having to train myself out of that to really see life as it is, while still trying to maintain something that will make me special and satisfy that part of me which I cannot, would not and should not control.


The Class Clown.

In the fourth grade I had this beautiful blonde teacher. In the fourth grade I was the class clown. In the fourth grade I had a reason to wake up in the morning.

I promise I made them laugh. I wasn’t a stand up comedian, but I’d stand up and it was a comedy. Maybe that was my favourite remedy. She labeled me an alien and that was so fulfilling.

But now I know a little more even though it’s still less than most. I’m no longer in the fourth grade, but is it possible that I still remain the class clown?

It certainly feels like it. Society’s clown is probably all I can ever live up to. Society’s clown is probably where I can ever live. Because I grew up in ages, but still I ask the question, can I ever be taken seriously, or do I even want to be seriously?

No, seriously. I signed up for a career as a lawyer in suits. Trying to get out of my own skin, but forgetting everything else inside. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to hide. The alien who does not belong. Trying out this human act, trying to read the script, the writer’s hand so that I can live up to whatever my part is in this bloody plot.

I’m probably better off in coincidence instead of trying to put meaning to every circumstance. I’m so oblivious to consequence, and this uncertainty, this comedy I’m living always batters me in sequence.

But I had reason to live… Back then in the fourth grade. If I can rediscover that in the joke that is my life, maybe the beautiful blonde will find me again.