When we go we will leave behind no written records of our passing, no etches in the stone, no words to be passed down year after year until generations hence will have twisted them into some sort of hidiouse monstrocity through which they can commit murders in our name. No manifestos will follow in our wake, no art to stand forever on display static as things were not meant to be, as little men with smaller minds do their best to scilently preserve the emptyness of before for all eternity to see. No pictures though. It scorns the light.
Instead we will leave scribbles on the sidewalk, pastel assualts against the unending blackness of an uncaring road that leads to no where except where ever you are going. Light laughture, and sometimes love will be born from our couplings singing gaily into the wind which blows scattering the sounds we make. Dust and ashes.
Nothing left behind. Except the feeling that there will be something great, always around the next bend.
Sorry I am sick, and I am more than a little sad and that was up lifting to me.
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Sometimes I like to clear my plate. Sometimes it is politics. Sometimes it is board games. Sometimes it is personal. Occationally it is private. It is rarely spell checked, and never edited. However, this blog is part of my corner of the internet and you are welcome to it.
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- thekolo
- I have a mysapce for all the general stuff so I am just going to skip it. I also have a blog. My writing is not the elusive fingerprint left by an otherise careful criminal on the underside of a light switch before leaving a room. Nor is it 3% of DNA that seperates me from a monkey. It is, however, there. And it is a far greater indication of who I am and what I am about than this text box can ever hope to be.
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