Run, Don't Walk

When we live in the system, and we see walls rising in between

what is real and what is merely a wish of our eyes, we strife in search

for the golden compass that will lead us to a shrine lost in space and

time, where the Gods of ancient tribes were called luck and survival,

where shields were hope and swords were sweat. We run towards those

walls, charging blindly towards the gigantic windmill and commit to

those Gods' will, that we will be harder and breach through the system,

that we will get better at the fight against Him, that we will be

stronger and break the javelins of Destiny, that we will be faster and

escape the clutches of time and death.

And behind the wall we find a valley of light, shrouded in a

mist of sweet melodies, of old memories, of a time we live once more

only in our deepest dreams. We transcend to an existence beyond

understanding, a plane which was erased from our minds by an evermore

evolving System, by an Administrator which gives away blinding bandages

in which we see relief from our pain, an easy exit to everything that

makes us raise our swords and shields,and yell to the Man I ain't gonna

be your pawn no more.

In time the black crows of resignation eat our eyes in silver

platters handed on by our tied hands, and wobbling legs, chained by our

ankles to iron weighs. But that ought to be no more, because we have

the Gods in our side, which makes us open our eyes and see the evil

machinery which fights towards the only real god: Change. Any system

conspiring to make humanity an homogeneous mixture of unwilling minds

is doomed to fall to the uprising fists of rebellion because we are the

People. We break the links in chains and yell towards the skies giving

larger and faster steps every time.

Knees weren't made to kneel.

Hands weren't made to give away ourselves.

Mouths weren't made to praise a self-proclaimed god.

Eyes weren't made to be closed.

We have knees to run faster, we have hands to build our destiny,

we have mouths to express our joy, we have eyes to see the Truth. And

behind that wall, beyond that ever turning windmill, we will find it,

waiting for us, sitting under a tree, toying with a red apple and a

wide grin meant to cheer us up. Don't get fooled by the apparent

divinity, it is not Truth the true God, we don't serve Truth, we don't

live Truth, we don't want the Truth. The real god is the tree, the

apple, the breaking of the wall, the grin of Truth. The true god is

what drives us to stampede through the gates of Reality.

Truth was meant to be changed, Truth was made to be ever

changing, everlasting cycles of death and rebirth. Don't just seek the

truth, as ancient philosophers claimed to do. What utility is embedded

in the finding of Truth? None. The more you know and the less you do

will slowly turn you into beautiful Statues of wisdom, advice pouring

out of your mouth while your lonely, soft heart withers away with the

passing of ages, loosing any sense of humanity, getting only more stiff

and cold until the day you are not human anymore, but a mountain that

has set a new System. That is why now, I tell thee, we serve just one

God, the ever moving power of Change. Seek Truth, breaking the System

and change it, serving our god with the divine tools given to us.

We humans are mortals, creators of immortality, we live and

die but the changes we make stay, our footprints live a mark and vanish

with a greater change than the mark on the land itself. Nothing is dust

in the wind, that which fades away is reborn anew, in a more beautiful

perfect manner we could ever understand. That which we do is never

undone, rather it's the beginning of an infinite cycle of events, so in

a manner, we humans die, but never go away. Take that for a God, and

Change daily, make of your life a constant routine of spontaneous

events, every step is a creator of possibilities, never hesitate to act,

never get stuck in an unmoving path. Be forever an unstoppable flow of

energy, do not let any mountain, as high as it might be, stop you, even

if it seems the easy way out. Never stop, never sleep, never rest, life

is flowing and everything with it, and our eyes can look only to the

way we stare, so Hope is there for you to unbend your knees, Luck is

there for you to be happy or learn from your falls, sweat is there to

give you the satisfaction of your own work, nourishment is there to

support you when your mouth cries from hunger. Truth is there not to be

seen, but to be changed.

There is no goal, no end zone, no Finish line, the moment you

see yourself in the mirror and think your perfect, you're done for. It

never ends until it ends, and is not up for us to end it, nor the

System's decision, nor the Gods will, nor is it the Only Truth that we

will pass away.

Immortality is there for those who seek it, Truth is there for

those who are willing to work it, Divinity is there for those that keep

changing the World even after death.

Run, don't walk, and live forever.

Rampage of an Emotional Cremation of Reason and Logic

Has it not been a lifetime already?

Has it not been miles and miles of laughter and crying, of joy and pride?

Even the hard stone gets eroded by the cool soothing wind over time, and a lifetime seems long enough for any stone.

But stones crumble and fall down when the hollowness left behind by the lovely wind eats them inside-out

And is it not wind's nature to flow unstoppable and unrivaled?

Is it not the seducing dance of her exotics arms an embracing touch of warmth and care?

But a mountain remains unhallowed, thawed only on the outside, getting tired of Wind's constant leashing

But the mountain remains silent, mourning only the perils of staying at her side

Like a lovely rose in bleeding fingers he endures the constant charge of the howling blizzards that merciless Wind strikes down

And the mountain won't budge.

Have we not all seen the crown of the world, full of ice and touching the skies.

For any mountain that awaits long enough the ceasing of the Hurricane will realize how futile his defenses were

Age will result in only two kinds of birth for any mountain:

The peak less, blue-dressed, ice-covered ranges hurling towards the sky, in vane trying to grasp the dancing wind, from which we have al learned that unrequited love is an accelerator of entropy, quickly mugging the scarce heat that resides in a stone cold, stone hard heart. For all of those mountains proud enough to enclose their core with masks of rock and sand and rubble and wall, the harder they pretend to be, the colder they turn. And it will be an ultimate death, reaching the loved One in the form of a mindless corpse of grudge and repentance.

But for those mountains that open way for the Wind through them, and endure the ravishing, lascivious endeavors of energetic invitations, they will find tunneled beneath the core of their hearts a chamber to the heart of hearts, where the warmth will comfort both rock and wind, and two in one they shall inter-wind, and fireworks will shoot in the sky and the contents of the heart will spill out through the mountain's mouth as the tiny rocks should have learned to do. And eloquently shall these ranging volcanic mountains enter the Circle of Fire within the grasp of Wind, which will warm inside and out and kiss endlessly until the hearts of hearts is frozen.

And that, will last an eternal life time of laughter and crying and joy and dancing.