Falling Stars

Get these kids on a steady diet of Roman history. God, what the hell is wrong with this generation? If you want to think and think well, if you want to create in your mind schemes of complex synchronicity and draw others to you in connective tissue of transcendence, just a thought BUT, critical race theory probably won’t get the job done. We have lived all our lives and built upon the lives of our parents and their parents and those forgotten by those forgotten for this shit? This is what everyone thinks is a good way to filter the reality around us?

You know, we once were human, alive with rawness, struck by falling stars on cold winter nights.

Now we laden these stars with textbook-long chains of scientific empiricism and think it was religion that made everyone backward-minded and ignorant of “progress.” We bring everything low by a baseness that was originally in an apple somewhere long ago. And we think that will then liberate us? I am not seeking for that which will be played on the radio for a few months and then periodically after by drunken college kids at 3:00am; no, I want to create that which will shock the minds of those coming of age into new paradigms of thought revealing the wondrous, terrifying, demanding responsibility of becoming a human being. Something which will stun our raucous attempts at negation into silence on those early mornings; that will live long in the minds of the few people who wish for the knowledge that they are truly worthy of. Neurons will fire and misfire and pathways won’t be tried twice; don’t you know we are already part-eternity?

Create, don’t copy.

I don’t know the answer; I don’t have anything but that which was given me upon conception and consecration of my soul. I yearn for the raw newness of the hidden diamonds in my fellow human being. And I only see it every other fortnight after passing through thousands of paper cutout people. 

We all preach, even if we simply preach to not preach to others. We are all unique preachers disseminating messages not yet heard in the hallowed halls of angels much less on this earth. Yet, nearly everyone just plays a recording from someone else when it is their turn to preach.

Poets, do you want adulation and praise at an Inauguration run by demons or do you want to cause earthquakes? It’s lonely the path to immortality; it is not safe; the masses have NEVER pursued the right path; they only stumbled upon it after a trailblazer had been burned at the stake 50 years before. You want safety now and oblivion later, or criticism and pain now, and a solid chiseled granite body and soul later? Your chin will be raised and your feet well grounded when the full storm comes upon you; you’ll know where to go, and God willing, others will follow you in that storm until they can find their own solid ground, which will spur others to follow them. And then, the parasites will have nothing left to leech upon, and we will all be living in paradise, and will fear not.

It’s beautiful, writing. It is never perfect; I am never perfect. But to look back and to see a time when I put that unshakeable, unknowable fusion of temporal and eternal into the words on this page, that grants me access to that living water in an otherwise parched forsaken land.

Sunsets rage violently against dying light; transfixed, I still turn away knowing they end. Why then do you merely take a picture of it to hang up in your house? You save an image and desecrate the Now.

You live in synthetic events; plastic moments that choke an ocean of your potential.

I want the diamonds in all of you to shine and strike me dead. I want to weep in awestruck wonder at your thoughts, and the potential that you have acted upon. Give up that which is dying; death is limit and you aren’t.

Published by Principium24

I want to write, as millions have before me. And I want to know what it is to be human, as few have before me.

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