The Thought Of Beauty

The mass of thoughts that goes through ones mind in any given day is 1 in an infinite.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but if the mind is cluttered by an infinite number of thoughts will the beauty be shuffled aside like countless other thoughts a person might have? If so does this render an object ugly? Or would that, as well be the product of an already forgotten thought process.

If an objects worth is garnered by its beauty does this make it worthless and in turn purposeless? If an object does gather the appropriate attention, will it be valued more if one person finds it more beautiful then another? What if a person believes the beauty that they are looking upon is priceless? Is this why there are paintings that I personally may find ugly are sold for millions of dollars, yet something I find extraordinary has no value at all? Who are we as people to judge and own beauty if it is something that never is and always was but could never be but always is but could never have been?

Hate: Emotional Terrorism to Some, Inspiration to Others

Hate is a never ending experience in someone’s life. From the smallest ridicule to the most truamatizing of mental anguish. Hate is evident and always will be throughout the course of someone’s life. It can build friendships or tear them apart. Make a man or break him. Hate is what you will it to be. You can mold it into a fiery passion that gives you the motivation to succeed in what you wish. Or it can rip your mind apart piece by piece until all that remains is a tiny insecure fragment that enables people to manipulate you.

Hate is a part of life. Don’t live someone else’s life. Use hate as an advantage so as to ensure success and happiness will follow in its hollow footsteps to bring light to the darkness that once was.

The Miracle Of Life

Many refer to the birth of a newborn child as; the miracle of life. But when that miracle is turned to ruin because it wasn’t so much a miracle as it was an accident. What becomes of the situation? Does it become denounced and portrayed as a non-event?

The ‘Big Boom’ theory was also referred to as the miracle of life. But what if it to was just another accident.

Does what we have now and the rest of space then become a mockery of what a true miracle is? If so the creation of ‘miracles’ is also a non-event.
Which leads to another profound question. ‘What is?’

The future is for dreamers

Ideas fuel the future but we are told not to think. Our future is
doomed, without the fuel of ideas we'll run out of gas. We'll slow to a
stop until the dreamers fly by while watching us die. We look up to
the sky to see what can be. We are inspiried and set free. Growing
wings of our own we learn to fly and let go of the lies. The future
becomes just that; the future. We set forth on our new paths to dream.
The world seems so clean without the haze of lies over our eyes.

Journal. Future.

I full up these pages with thoughts of meaningless inner personal struggle. The words I speak don't hold the key to clarity or inner happiness. They can, at most, just cause more thought. It hurts to think of things I can't discuss with others because they don't care. It hurts when I indulge in someones thoughts and they will not do the same for me. I hate the state of humanity, I don't see us going anywhere we should. I see us going places that should strike fear and anguish in our hearts. Instead we smile while our future bleeds shadow. Every kid will be corrupted with the things that should never be.

The past

When you look in the mirror do you see yourself? Or what you've felt? The scars from the past; do you wear them like a mask? Hide yourself behind yourself? Or do you shed tears of light, fuel for your fight. Melt what youve felt and let the mask fall away like the past.

A new world order. How intelligence should rule.

Instruments of war laid to waste by the ink of a martyr. Writen in the life of another, the words flow like a vain from my mind. Like the changing of seasons the struggles come and go, each time overcome the same as before. The ink runs read through the hearts of the dead.

Simple rule to live by?

The guidance I take from my heart allows me to be hardcore of heart. Keep my emotions in check, and let them do the same for me. Its a ballance of me. It allows me to see, it allows me to 'be'