Rambling Idea
A personal blog to share my work and opinions.
Friday, December 7, 2012
War of Men
Monday, November 26, 2012
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.