What good is an artist who can draw perfect lines and nothing else?
What good is a writer who can pen an errorless sentence that contains nothing of substance?
A scientist without any original theories?
A "poet" committing other's lines to memory?
Linear minded nature keeping the human mind from expressing human nature: Is it a wall in the way of human progression or a continuance of the well oiled machinery, putting off extinction another year?
A bowl of currency in a room full of beggars
The problem or the solution?
No desire to continue Society but only Humanity and Human Nature and Human Love.
Eyes fixed skyward toward another blood soaked end to a prosperous day, The liquid light pours to the edges and cracks of this entire room. Almost moved to tears in remorse for our Life-providing master, if not for Her annual rebirth. With each rise from the ashes, She grows stronger until we praise Her name well into the night.
But This is not Her or our season and she dies a premature death.
Leaving us early into the evening with only each other for warmth.
Toasting to sobriety, glass in hand I feel the world reach the tipping point.
The liquid goes down with ease.
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