Twenty Tens

Deep distant echoes of my voice murmuring gibberish, advising me for something of high significance, something that I find equally pointless. The full satisfaction of not knowing, and the curiosity of taking another path, just because I can, a path more secret and less known.

The poets of old sing in their long forgotten faith for showers of beauty and grace found only in perfection, divinity and what’s known; but I’m not after innocence and nobility, romantic notions of hope. It’s the twenty tens, and hope has forsaken all lands in this world. In this youth, we chase for imperfection, through mistakes and sins we strive to learn and become more.

It’s difficult to accept that life operates outside order, because that way the Lord’s free will and his almighty power would be disrupted, God would have no meaning in a chaotic universe. And his freedom intended for us is our condemnation, a prison of the heart bricked from even more gibberish. 

So, I choose to be subversive and move like an ocean current. In my occult heathen excommunicated ways I aim to reach our true selves, my heresy is toward any cage attempting to free us from choice. Not to waste resources on hope, but to create and improve overall alchemy of life.