You think you know me.
I think I know you.
We know nothing
As we move forward
Slouched in our office chairs of despair
Some moving full throttle, the others stay still
Still
All in the same place
All at the same level
The illusion of movement
Competitiveness run amok and awry
An experiment gone wrong
An experiment in our endless longing, our search
Our eventual journey
As we seek greatness and perfection
While shattering the thought of it.

We have been taught to question
Questions bring greatness
Greatness is what we long for

Greatness has been subjugated
No longer an aspiration, but a trade
Not a product of inspiration
But a product of greed

Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead

What once was an abstract concept
Is now concrete
And invisible
Nothing
A black hole
Constructed from the shattered hopes and dreams
Of millenials and those who felt like we do throughout history

What does "millenial" mean anyway?
In every context it encapsulates
Consumerism
Greed
Selfishness
Hypocrisy

Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead
And we killed it

We dealt the death blow.

We lack heart
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with greatness
Greatness comes from accomplishments
Accomplishments come from knowledge
Knowledge comes from aspiration
Aspiration comes from inspiration
Inspiration...
comes from the metaphysical heart

The hollow men had no soul
and neither do we

We lean together
We do not embrace
We do not take the next steps
Only leaning
We lack what we need to see it through

We are incapable of maintaining relationships.
For our stamina is gone
In its place, divorce, infidelity,
shallowness
relationships based on looks and dreams
dreams of perfection
based on the wrong definition

We are the hollow men

We are hollow
We are... despairing

Despair
why would we despair?
if we did not care?
are we then hollow?
if we worry,
is that not out of concern?
is concern
not out of love?
does love...
not stem from the heart?

Sometimes I wonder
Can you still have a heart
If you have a mind in the way?

What stories could journals tell?
What we forget
is that they are not just repositories of words
but also of thoughts,
feelings,
emotions

They are places in and of themselves
Saving these emotions,
stashing them away
so they can be discovered
at a later time.

But the true beauty of these journals
lies within discovery itself

A droplet of water will fall
further
down a curved surface
taking a pale tan color
like its surroundings
It will fall off the surface
Onto the fibers of the page below
Leaving a darkened splotch

More droplets will follow
More tears will follow
As twenty years from now
A thirty-five year old woman rediscovers
the girl she once was.

He's been through this before
Writer's block
No, not that
But the feeling of it
Applied to life
As a whole

All's dank near the dream
The dream
That which we all have
Dreams of our lives
Dreams of our lies
As we abandon all good and evil
In our search for stability

What we seek
shining nameless
walking out of the world
we chase it
visualize it
black on glowing grey
the green light deferred for a grey one

It walks, then runs.

From these dreams
the witness
turns aside
constantly
throughout his life

the witness runs
the distance grows
the impossibility is perceptible
We know what is happening
We are all witnesses
yet we do not know the solution
so we watch on
the arid climate of our world scorched by our own infallibility
our race
the one we share as inhabitants of this earth
the one drawn as a cartoon image of itself
drawn in its own image
redrawn, modernized

The traveller waits on the shores of our beach
He beckons to the shadows in the distance
He calls out, warmly
like a father to his son
He calls once more
He calls no more
The traveller waits

I wish to call out to the traveller
I wish to exclaim
'disguise not your battered soul'
I wish to comfort
But I cannot
I am in the distance
My limbs will not carry me in that direction

I am in the distance
amongst a flock of martyred guns

in our digital world, a blank text box is a blank page.
we need not think about what we will write
we need not think.
yet we are human.

O life
That force that draws dependent
On nothing yet on everything
The good and evil, confused and enlightened
It moves through us as light shining through the clouds
That darkens our outlook
The stars vanish as the sky's light fades
No longer can we reach further, jump higher
The bay's light snuffed by nature
No color, no green, but grey
As muted as the circumstance of silence
Where one's own thoughts are not quieted, but amplified
The inverse of the typical pattern
Where as the noise outside increases, the thoughts within become clouded
Thoughts like stars, once visible now invisible
Absorbed by the grey
Overtaken by the grey
Gone
Replaced with the noise from outside
A small town replaced by chain stores
A young mind replaced by no mind
A people replaced by a nation
Stars and stripes, vivid and billowing
Real yet ethereal
The stripes' colors run across the fabric of the flag
Confined only by the end of the fabric
by this binary reality
Without this confine they would run forever
Like a stream
Like a stream of consciousness
a visualization of the confines that bind us
The shackles we fight
The irons we drag, day in and day out
Our symbols, our world are governed by laws
And we struggle to break them
To understand them
To exist is an act of civil obedience
to prosper as an act of disobedience
We develop
we create
we imagine
we inspire
we think
we critique
we wonder
We live in limbo
Questioning our very purpose
As we feel the driving force within us
Push us to disobey the laws that govern us
To prosper or to fall
To pass or to fail
Eden was a place of perfection
designed to nurture us
to allow us to prosper through adherence to rules
But we cannot prosper without disobedience
It is what compels us to live and learn
It is what comprises the very essence of us
We could not live there
But we cannot live here
We are nomads of existence
Travelers on an endless journey
We find ways to amuse ourselves
Inventing distractions and novelties
Most bittersweet
They are tokens of our achievement
Designed to take the place of indicators of progress
for an endless journey has no mid-way point
No end
Just a beginning
I called to life:
What shall I do?
What shall I be?
I am a cynic
I exclaimed with true heart and soul
That this advancement
These tokens
are meaningless
That they are not the panacea to our problems
They are the parasite that ails us
I urged
I begged
I cried
I felt that ideas were dead
No chivalry towards the mind

I have changed

Our journey has no end, only beginning
There are no good days
No bad days
In the grander scope there is nothing
But in that same way
there is everything
With every token we craft to celebrate our achievements
We huddle together, a group of beings alone in an endless timeline
Moving forth ceaselessly
But together
With one another
Defending against threats
Celebrating against boredom

O life
That force that remains dependent yet independent
Interdependent
Moving through us, connecting us
Bringing us together
Forming our humanity
The only thing we have and the best thing we have
A path embellished by us
Luster none surpassed

No despair may conquer us
No reality may threaten us
Life is the lantern in the dark
that beckons us.

O, life.
You exist for all but are visible to only some
You leave us pondering, wondering, yet living as one.

Knowledge is power.
Is that accurate?
Is it rather a spectrum?
What is our value?
How must we examine this?
How can we know?
Should we know?
Will we know?
Are these questions meta?

Why do we ask questions?
Why was this question asked?

What is the human condition?
Is it to search for answers we can’t ever understand?
If we are to believe in the story of our creation –
Was this the final punishment bestowed upon us?
To ask questions?
To be inquisitive?
Is what is the root of all good also the root of all evil?

Knowledge is power.*
No, it’s ignorance.