All good things

Its an odd feeling writing this. This blog was started without any intention on my part to post a single piece. And yet it survived 2 and a half years (with much neglect). But as a wise man once said 'nothing gold can stay', so like oh so many other things, it is time to give it up.

This chapter in my life is closed, leaving me with mixed feelings. I now know its silly to hold on. I no longer see it as it once was, something that would from time to time place a smile on my face. So here it remains, a testimonial of who i once was, imperfections and all.

Thank you for listening.

Till next we... perhaps not,
Paul

Friend is a four letter word

My body is shaking; my lips quiver as I stare into his eyes. I search his face but it yields no register of the words I had just spoken. I stand there, waiting for him to say something, anything.

I’ve been dreading this moment. For weeks it’s been building. And now that its here I can barley catch my breath. My heart beats so heavily that I fear it will betray me. I put on my mask and try to stay composed, inside I die a little.

We both knew it was coming. Things change I guess, people grow apart. I just didn’t think it would happen to us.

So now it’s said and done. Do I regret it? I guess it’s too early to tell. One day ill be able to talk to you again. But not now.

Till next we meet,
Paul

The Gospels According To Paul

Things will never be the same

Snatched away by force,
Left to rot out in the rain.
The innocence of a child,
Now shivering in self blame.

Hidden in the corner,
Locked away from prying sight.
Lies that child, praying, wishing,
Someday that he might.

Wash away the scares,
And forget about the pain.
All the while knowing,
Things will never be the same.

The child keeps on living,
Maybe out of spite.
He wakes up drenched and screaming,
He can never sleep at night.

The darkness of events,
Keep replaying in his dreams.
A never ending story,
Where nothings what it seems.

The child, now a man,
Lives away from where he came.
Although the dreams have stopped,
Things will never be the same.

He lies in bed all alone,
And waits till morning come.
He dreads the sound of footsteps,
Though he knows there will be none.

The man receives a letter,
Informing of his father wake.
The father has died suddenly,
And to the grave he take.

The secrets of his life,
And the answers there within.
The reasoning of madness,
And the multitude of sin.

The man stares at the letter,
For what seems to be an age.
He walks around the room,
Yet his eyes don’t leave the page.

He knows he should feel safe,
The threat has gone and passed.
But he cannot help but think,
Of the questions gone unasked.

The man has never told a soul,
And decided never will.
The past is best left where it lies,
Under a dirt mound hill.

In front a stone, made of clay,
With words imprinted had.
Here lies a man remarked to be,
The world’s greatest dad.

A Chance to Dream:

I lie in bed holding my breath, waiting for that sound I deeply dread. Outside the room a bottle falls and rolls across the floor. I am safe, he will not wake tonight. I breathe again, slowly allowing for my muscles to relax. I permit myself to falter, and dream. Dreams are a risky escape, a reality without the limitations and boundaries of the current. They are the great equalisers among men. Where a person can become anything just by simply wishing it. I like dreams; I like to pretend I’m somewhere else. It doesn’t matter where, as long as its not here. I close my eyes and the room disappears, melting away the worries of the day. When I open them again I find I am enclosed by a clear plastic box. I like this dream, I have had it many time before. From my box I watch the world pass by. It does not notice me, and I do not care. I watch the chaos of uncertainty that plagues this world and feel glad I am in my box. I am safe. I wish this dream would last for ever, but it never does.

In a dream there is always a certain amount of control one has; the ability to stop an event they do not like by simply waking up. Sometimes I wonder why life can’t be like this. Why can’t I just wake up? My life in essence is a reoccurring nightmare, a reality more fitting of a fictitious creation. So that is how I treat it. I block it out hoping that it will someday pass, but it never does. I am a prisoner, bound by my circumstances, relinquished of my will. A condemned victim, persecuted for simply being. As time passed on I have noticed a yearning within myself. A craving for a release from the pains of this world into the reality of the dream.

A dream creates a safe environment that cannot be matched by anything in this world. Where a consequence is but a word, thrown around defying its very definition. You cannot be hurt in a dream, there is no sorrow, there is no pain.

I feel myself slipping away from the dream. I can’t go back, I mustn’t go back. My surroundings start to blend together. I desperately try to cling to the dream, but my futile attempts fail. I am awake.

Morning breaks as the downing of a new day slowly brings me back to reality. Movement outside the room tells me he has woken too. A loud crack of a leather belt on wood is a prologue to the up coming events of the day. I sit up slowly and listen to the sound of rain falling on nearby rooftops. The calming echo of splashing water prepares me for what I must do next. Outside the room he yells my name, I do not listen. I pick up a sheet, rap it around my neck and start to pull. It digs into my throat and I pull harder, I cannot stop now. I can not breathe and I am starting to get dizzy, but it is worth it. To dream, one last time, to die.

Statement of intention: This story was written as a first person narrative by a thirteen year old with knowledge beyond his years. The perspicacity of the child is a representation of the ultimate loss of possible potential when someone commits suicide.

Religion or Cult?

Apparently im not allowed to use these words interchangeably. For some reason people get offended if i reference their religion as a cult. I personally see no difference. To differentiate is to claim that one person’s beliefs are more valid than another's. Considering no one can definitively prove one way or the other they shall all be cults to me.

Its so hard to legally define what is a religion, simply cause its so loosely established. So because of this reason we shall stick with the basic concept. The main difference between a religion and a cult is there size. Apparently if enough people believe in something, no matter how absurd, it gives it validity, and even more importantly a tax status. (Even christianity was once considered a cult).

The word cult has negative connotations, the image it congers is of an elitist totalitarian society headed by a self appointed charismatic preacher who intends to keep its members separated from the 'polluted' ideals of established society. Im here to tell you not all cults are like this, and not all religions are that far from this concept. The religious wars that caused so much blood shed over countless years were the original way to limit the strength of opposing religious concepts. By physically decreasing the amount of individuals believing conflicting views, they were able gain strength through fear and brute force. Add this to smear campaigns listing other religions as cults and you can almost understand why pagan symbols such as pentagrams were adopted by satanic extremists.

Religions/Cults aren't bad. That said they are not always good either. They give people hope, strength, courage and faith. They also give limited responsibility, irrational reasoning and prejudice logic. As long as they are not taken too seriously in a fanatic nature, and a person remains open minded i don't too much care what you believe. Just don't expect me to share your views.

A cult by any other name...

Till next we meet,
Paul

My youth is slipping

Today i woke up old. I guess it could have been worse, i could have woken as Gregor Samsa did, but even this gives me little solace. I have been ripped from my teens before my time, before i could truly appreciate that that is the teenage life. And now with each passing year, death comes one step closer and i become that little more undesirable.

I initially had a plan to combat this problem, instead of turning twenty i would simply turn twenteen. But now in my much more wiser frame of mind i see this would be a foolish attempt to grasp at my slipping youth.

In the fading days leading up to this moment, i (almost) made a list of 'lasts'; things to do while i was still a teen. This turned out to consist of most of the things one is able to do when they turn 18, and because i didn’t put much effort into it i didn’t follow through by completing the tasks. For reference sake the kind of things that were on the list included: purchasing smokes (i don't smoke), going to a club (for the last time as a teen), getting a tattoo or piercing, get married and then consequently getting divorced (i sadly couldn’t find a willing participant) ect ect... And now looking back it perhaps could have been fun, ow well we live and learn.

So what happens now? What’s left for me? Will i slowly develop a taste for plaid? An overwhelming desire for lawn bowls? What?

The future is so unpredictable, and time so fleeting i doubt ill know until it’s upon me. So here’s to one more morning, for now that they are numbered. Half way to 40...

Youth is wasted on the young.

Till next we meet,
Paul