Friday, December 7, 2012

War of Men


Why must men war among themselves? All sorts of wars at that, not only conventional geopolitical war. Wars among the spirit of the individual, secret destroyers seeking the fall of ones respect of themselves. “All you have done is evil, all you will do is evil, that is unless you give up, stop trying and do things my way”. Where does a man conceive of such destruction. Only if one is destroyed themselves can they properly dissolve another ones spirit into this alleged true way. Never mind ones own mind and its creations, that is impure and above all evil. These harbingers of madness, of complex destruction, no longer can you have your way in this world.

Bloodshed is the ultimate goal for the destroyed, even their own blood. For discourse delights their shattered beings and makes them feel right, as if that is the true way of the world, that is nature itself. If only men can accept their brotherhood, not as complacent hand holders, but as pieces of the same whole, beings of the same nature. Why must we accept madmen as our leaders, why must we accept leaders as messiahs. Pass your own responsibilities on to another, as to relieve the weight on your own shoulders. Foolish as that is, it is the way of the world at this time. “This man here, he will bring some real change” “No, you man of the wrong side, this man here is the real bringer of change” “Well, both of you are wrong, this man here will preserve things as they are, as they should be”. No progress exists in this way.

Does no one want to look upon what has really brought humanity together in a real and understandable way, free from rivalry and politics? Work. A plague of laziness has stricken much of the world, a lack of real desire to work. Work is not a job, a job is a position in a company or a position that holds specific responsibilities, work is something pure, it is an effort. Everyday some work, trying to see reality, trying to understand why the world has the issues it does, and trying to, above all, solve these problems. This is work, and very few want to do it. Many people are content with going on and on in their small routine, no change is necessary to these individuals, for they are content. A routine may become a sort of happiness, the happiness one feels in being safe from anything they may have to think about. This is lazy, and to compensate, they may rely on individuals labeled as intelligent in order to gain opinions, these opinions not being their own of course.

So, back to the question at hand, why do men destroy themselves and the others around them. I believe that this is a form of decay. The men who decide to make these decisions, dating back to ancient times, had problems of their own. Unintelligent and ignorant, they pillaged in the name of some sort of higher good, to obtain land, to obtain more workers, to conquer the known world. These men did not understand that an entirely different way of living exists. That way of living is the way of work. Work to understand, work to realize, work to conquer. For the only true foe man has is the elements themselves, but instead of realizing this many decide to be a representation of this force. Why must men battle with hurricanes, volcanoes  floods, landslides, still-births, vicious animals and all sorts of other violent forces, along with themselves. No longer should any man give another a proper thought, unless their work has granted that thought. Because if the work is true, it serves to unite men, not by the words the performer of the work say, but by the work itself. This type of life brings those who desire a true change together, so perhaps the world can give up its notions of domination and superiority, and actually see what humanity as a whole is up against, the universe itself.

Monday, November 26, 2012

Machine

A man sits upon a stool in a dark chasm. The stool being shorter than his legs, his knees bend at a ninety degree angle, feet firmly positioned on the floor. Hunched backed and elderly, the man slowly churns a lever, forcing a gear into motion. Beyond the mans position a machine increasing in complexity as it distances from the man cranks and pops, all from the first gear the man perpetuates. A despaired look fills the mans face, with his left hand firmly glued to his forehead, supporting his head. His solemn look suggests a feeling of remorse, a guilty conscience flooding his thought. Only one motion is summoned from the man, the steady churn of his right arm, continuing the operation of the behemoth machine.
Only one light shone in the chasm, it came from the small table next to the man. An oil fueled lamp let out a beautiful radiance. Many colors streamed from the single lamp, deep blues and bright yellows, some colors provoked powerful emotions. Flashing from the lamp, the colors flowed across the chasm effortlessly, the only distraction from the machine for the man. Beyond view the machine continues, gaining in complexity as far as an eye could see. The machine was building itself, from the initial movements of the mans arm, from his sheer will, the machine continued. Strange outgrowths of mechanical contraptions spurred from the mass of gears and triggers, all dancing to the light of the lamp. Slowly, and begrudgingly, the man continued to push his arm, in a cyclical pattern in order to grow this machine, neither his nor any others.
Time had long since ceased in the chasm, no age gained on the man, only the machine grew. He grew neither older nor younger, only the machine progressed forward. At a point, the machine gained so much complexity as to develop a clone of the man, a machine who churns its own gears to perpetuate another machine, but not separated from the initial mass. This clone churned a simple gear in order to continue the growth of the same machine, the appearance of the contraptions growing from this clone were of a major difference when compared to the mans. A different but connected machine thus continued on from the main stream of the machine. Forever this continued, perpetuated by the man, too ashamed by an unknown thought to stop the churning. Eternity spurred on, a maw of complexity consumed the chasm until the man was surrounded by the machine. On and on, the man continued, head supported by his left arm, back hunched, churning with his right arm...churning...churning...cycling...

Desperate Ego

A distressed ego seeks to sew seeds. Knowing of the great unknown, it struggles to make its self known to others, to have something of remembrance. With no great deeds done, it pursues a listener, an ear to share its wisdom's with, to be thought of as benevolent, to have done "good". Why struggle with such vanities you sorrowful soul. Deeds are deeds, true greatness is never measured by others, and conversation is of little value. Ones wisdom is another's folly. Sew these seeds in ones own garden, so there will always be plenty, whether another knows of them or not.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

A Welcoming

Hello there,

My name is Alexander, and this blog will function as a collection of writings I have made. Some of the writings will be complete as is and others will be incomplete or to be progressed upon. If you happen to enjoy any of them please leave me some comments, preferably constructive.