These are my first words, each created with higher intentions than the normal constraints that their definition would allow. I offer them as my own, and as the collective understanding I have taken from the people and experiences I have witnessed or of which I have understood to be true of human nature. I am no more of a writer, than a poet, than a construction worker; I like to think of all these professions as equal as in any role that one takes if the effort to put your own voice into the equation is true. No malice is intended to anyone or any group for opinions opposing or radical to my own, as I entitle this doctrine of representative words, you rightfully may do the same. Read and remember me not for the words I choose and have written, but for the words you choose to change what it is you remember of me, what it is you know of yourself, and what it is that you remember of this world.

- A small collection of big ideas. Instrumented by means of systematically placing words (which are constructed of pictured designs representing letters) symbolizing deeper meanings to invoke thought. Silently from my mind, to my fingers, to your eyes, to your mind, I present this collection.

That’s All it is,

And that’s All it ever will be.

No matter how you look at it,

It’s just a Story.

A man has not spoken for years

He refuses to utter a single word.

The mind screams from every angle.

He sits in a room – bare and white.

The chair is facing a wall.

There are no windows.

Life is Perfect.

The door is locked.

A pen and paper lay on the floor.

Life is Perfect.

The decision to write, to sit, to wait, to think,

Is the only decision left in this world. The only true form of communication awaits its answer.

Life is Perfect.

Given equal abilities and chance,

We all expectantly take different roads.

Thinking one way over another will be fulfilling,

Expectantly.

I can be happy, and yet consciously and

Subconsciously I choose not to be.

If I were happy, then there would be no more -

Dreams and hopes that light my way.

I can travel so much farther fueled by my aspirations, then out of fulfillment.

We choose pain, embodied in our perception of it.

Expectantly we do not realize this.

Perfection is not perfect.

A perfect person will not exist without imperfections.

Leadership is not characteristically the best trait that a person could have.

A real leader is someone who

Follows only himself,

And influences no others to

Follow him.

The only great leaders we will ever learn about,

Are the ones we will never learn about.

Today I passed my final,

And learned what it is to fail.

When there are no meaningful tests.

Value is internal – from within.

The machine cannot judge,

What it will not understand.

The only one,

The only thing I will ever understand,

Is myself.

She looks at me,

As I stare unyielding right back.

As if I have nothing better to do.

The silence is an understatement.

As if we are in a vacuum, and

The surroundings that are abundant are no more than a blur.

She makes a move, towards the corner, weary of my face.

I stare at her and her surroundings now,

Another one, similar in all ways comes and chases her.

And another one appears from the distance.

I cannot even give names to these faceless creatures.

She stops,

She looks at the blue,

She stares at the top.

Through the glass,

I wonder, and am entrenched in a world of thought,

Faster and more complicated than she could ever know,

At that moment.

I wonder what she is thinking about,

And if she cares what is on the other side.

I stop looking out of my car window.

As I pull away from the red light, turned green,

From a stoplight in a town I will most likely never revisit,

And pull my vision from a schoolyard, insignificant

In all my life’s activities,

I wonder,

The children, and fish, and myself, and today, and tomorrow, and when their will no longer be a tomorrow, and when there won’t be a today, and when there won’t be an I, and when there won’t be fish, and when there won’t be children.

All I am, as all I will be is an Instance;

I am but a stalk of grass amongst a field of green.

One Instant, surrounded by Instances;

I blink and I am a different stalk altogether.

What Instance of the many will truly depict who I am?

I blink again and I am a single drop of dew,

Formed early morning, dangling on the tallest strand of grass.

Has my Instance been overlooked?

As it passed, disguised like a common leaf floating on the river?

One Instance, that is all I have,

I blink again and I am the air in the field,

Gone, just gone.

Be proud of the past,

Dream of the future,

Stay strong during the present.

Please remember that at all times,

It is the present.

If I told you that this was ironic.

You would expect it to be.

Irony will follow the followed.

Words will recapitulate their meaning, and self assert the reader.

Comedy is pain suppressed.

Laugh again.

From darkness there is light,

Which returns to darkness once again.

From my mind there is confusion,

From which thought is created, and can

Never be destroyed.

Then a single thought makes it all worth it.

Through my silent eyes, I will speak not but through the pen –

And enable the communication of my saturated vision as seen beyond my eyes.

If happiness is the Goal, what is the Means?

Are we happy when we reach our goal?

Or while we are reaching it?

Are we happy with delusions?

-- Of pleasure that disappears like the moments in our life, when we are presented with each and every next object of envy.

Do we ever realize we once were happy?

When we realize we are now sad,

And look back upon the small everyday things, we miss and crave.

Is happiness only a pleasurable sense that we only desire?

Because we have grown so accustomed to it?

Will I,

Ever realize what makes me Happy, or

Why I want to be Happy?

On a Mission towards happiness,

Do I just go on with life?

The biggest are not the most satisfying.

Anything is only as good as you make it.

In the end,

It is only you and a reflection.

A person and beliefs.

A thing and a thing.

I take your proof and put it aside, you will take my lack of proof for granted.

They are not the answer. Nor will they ever be.

They will bring you nothing, and cause nothing good.

They will instill uneccessary desires that will only leave voids for later longing.

In return for nothing they will take your freedom, and

Your control.

They will never be worth it, they must be stopped.

They must be tried, they are too good.

Two extremities.

Two possible paths.

Only one can be chosen each day, each decision.

Yet, there is rational choice.

There is the option to sit and rest.

Be damned if you think turning around will help.

It has never just begun.

Nor, if you realize it, will it ever begin.

There will be no sunset while walking. Ever.

The apathy will stop if it is removed from the control.

Don’t stop me for the big things.

I saw those years ago.

Its all those little things I missed, that I care about.

I appreciate the piece more than puzzle.

Give me my hammer,

Or I will make one myself.

Either with a pen or a brick, I will create.

My thought is the only force stronger than my whole.

The only force I control –

I know what I am, and that is what makes me weak.

I cannot hide behind ignorance.

The same ignorance that forces the appearance of strength to come from the weak,

And the appearance of weakness from the strong.

Understand me here, and know not only how to overcome the chains of past thought,

But know how to cut the chains on everything – ever –

And create the tools, from nothing, and expect nothing – ever –

I gave everything I had, until nothing was left of myself.

Exhausted I could not see my depletion.

I died, a slow and unnoticeable death.

In the morning the sun that waits to rise, there rests a tension, a balance dependent on my own vision.

To keep my sight set on the path of the strong, a new day is all you need.

Everyday is a new day.

I will die. Will I once again be given the chance to be reborn?

Is this were my last day, would it be my last chance to perceive consciousness?

If what I created,

If what I made, that did not exist before me,

If what I invented, that would not be here without my foresight,

If what I gave life, changed the world,

Would that change anything –

Why must inspiration be deemed, as though good is its sole creator.

Cannot deceit, hatred, anger, fuel the greatest of imaginations?

Cannot the moral counterparts to those thwart the noblest of Intentions?

My imagination sours from myself, and my eternal internal struggle for freedom and emancipation from my inner conscious.

The day that I am whole, is the day I am I no longer influenced unknowingly.

On this day when perception of stimuli ceases to be interwoven into my perception of self, and judging without misappropriations what it is that is right, and who it is that I am, and where it is I should be going.

When does the dream end?

Or better yet, when does it begin.

Could I still be five years old?

And with large open eyes,

Just be imagining what life will be like?

I closed those eyes then, and open them now,

And realize

They were never fully opened at all – for the most part I was only peering out of slits, drawn to the ever-changing light – so accustomed to its senseless nature.

The view is so much more interesting with the sunglasses off, with my eyes fully opened, with the tearing sun’s rays lifting me towards awakening and away from confusion, sometimes my eyes hurt, and that is a pain I must deal with.

My Obstacle must be overcome.

My fear must be conquered.

My life must never be the same again.

Never the same, in anyway.

Goodbye and Good morning,

Today is the day – I am Free.

My being now consumed by my own design.

Repeat daily.

Do not rinse, or erode.

Keep away from malicious thoughts with destructive natures.

Believe in idols for what they are worth, and talisman for the same.

If you believe in a symbol, believe in one that you yourself give meaning and define.

Never forget where that symbol comes from, and the truth behind it - and yourself.

Carry it in gold or a scrap of cloth, or not at all.

Luck will follow, if you never betray your own truths.

Luck isn’t real, everything else is.

This is who I am,

With every word I choose over another, and thought that I choose to symbolize,

This is who I am.

This is the only way to describe myself.

Every single moment and action I do,

Is a compilation of nineteen years of effort

And an Infinite time span of evolution and caprice cosmic creation.

Seeking Stimuli (23)

If you are looking for it, you have already passed it by.

It is out there though.

It waits in the deepest of corners, and sulks in the darkest of orifices.

What are you looking for? Tell me, please?

If you need help, follow your past, follow yourself, follow the chain of stimuli that led you to look, because you have answered this question once before.

If I write,

If I expose myself,

If I offer explanations - Diagrams of my innermost thoughts,

Then as much as I intend it to,

It will make sense to me.

If you read this,

Then this word is now yours,

To be chewed and spit into your conscious.

I offer my words, to those willing to read, silently, contently, but "words" intent is never decided by the same person, there is always the reader and the author.

Art belongs to - and it’s meaning is defined by its creator, everything else and by everyone else is after thought.

Material words, material papers, and inks, and canvases, and frescoes are the afterthought, the products, the proof of existence, and the means to afterthought.

In the end there will be no definition.

It will resemble the times of the past.

You will only realize it is over, after it has started once again, and

You will not remember the past of where it came from.

Handed down perception coupled with handed down remnants of material truths will recapitulate life a hundreds times over.

I am not real.

I exist only in my mind and on this page.

I am a filler of space.

I am a liar, and a cheat.

I steal, and I steal letters and words, but yet what I make is the only thing I Believe in.

I know what is true, and what is not.

I know where my beliefs stem from.

I am not afraid to be unoriginal – as that crime is worth every lashing if I never tried to be original at all.

I did not discover what came before me.

An unanswered dream that beckons me before my time was to be there when thought become thought and humans became beings.

I look upon the void in my mind.

There are no cognitive decisions being processed,

Blank - to the world.

What is this mass that has been given such importance to?

Why did I obtain it?

Why did I exchange the value of sweat and toil, for impractical measures.

A square cuts into its already rectangular shape.

Colors dash in and out, contrasting with the stark white background.

Art is born, reality is revised, life lives.

I wait like the rest.

Yet, no expectations or demands leave my mind.

I offer no false pretenses,

There is nothing bigger than it actually is.

I do not expect to wait grandly, and yet I expect it all to be over in an instance, as all of my memories have so forth been.

Time has never fully existed.

I shall be sent,

I shall be looked upon, and inspected.

They shall ask me,

What have you known of yourself?

I shall reply- Everything.

Nothing more will be said, and

I will have no excuses to hide behind.

Creativity, and therefore the results of creativity, are at the same time a mask disguising our own perception of reality, where sometimes we deny it and sometimes we over-glorify it, as it’s very own existence and creation, and therefore by its very own definition is a mark of achievement, where all demands are met to satisfy human survival, and we can act out the unnecessary necessaries that advance the world, and build towards an easier life -- and we act in a state of exaltation – celebrating existence and what we have changed.

Am I a painter if I paint?

I create art, Am I an Artist?

I write these words, am I a writer?

I think about life, am I to be considered a Philosopher?

Don’t’ worry about what I am.

I will be what I make of myself.

By conventional standards,

He would be a lonely man.

But he sits, and he sits alone. He can walk just as well as a leader, as a follower, but he sits.

For this he is rewarded with the tranquility of peace of mind, as no false assumptions separates his view of himself and his surroundings.

My life has been its own Tall-Tale,

An adventure, a story, a myth, an unparalleled epic journey,

Wouldn’t I like it to be?

Wouldn’t you?

I am just a boy in a chair.

In all sense of terms: I write,

I decipher my mind and translate chemical reactions into muscle movements that strike at plastic keys.

I force myself to destroy the need for myself.

As it is, the better job I do to reveal my thoughts, the less of a need there is for me to further exist.

As I exist now in the keystrokes, and potential thoughts of those who interpret my textual mind. You, oh you the reader.

I have the privilege of Youth, to leave these rhetorical questions unanswered, the who, the what, the when, and the rest of all the what, and all the when, left open to the impending days that lay before me.

The simple fact that they are left open to discovery is why I must uncover the truths behind these reflective walls of mystery – and simply walk the path yielding the greatest results, for whatever it is I choose – in that ignorance there is bliss.

Given the gift of human thought, and the ability to judge, we are only doomed to judge others, and then ourselves.

Given the ability to do what is right, we are only bound to do what is wrong.

Given the choice to remain true to ourselves, our choice will determine the rest.

The only thing I can declaratively say that I have learned is that no matter what is altered, and what happens, and how drastically different things become, I will know that nothing has changed, and that nothing will ever be the same.

What if this is as good as it gets?

What if I should expect no more joy than what I already have experienced?

And I replied, there will always be tomorrow’s sunset, and it will always be grander than the one before it – and if you can make this happen and you can see this, not with your eyes, but with your mind,

My friend, you can control the sun.

Take its waves, like the floating sea plant, and breathe air to the world, breathe life for those that want it, take what is free, take this knowledge and control it, take its waves and control the sun.

A child will create a fortress, out of a sheet and a chair, and a plastic unyielding imagination.

He will do this, unafraid of the results.

He will use every available resource to create the best outcome, under his limited circumstances.

A child will create, not because he knows he can, but that he thinks he can’t.

I will never allow myself to grow up, or at least to consciously put constraints on my imagination.

On cloudy days,

The sun still shines.

Clouds are reminders with every ray that breaks the cumulus and reaches my eye, that the sun will not be stopped.

In fact, clouds only make the sun a more powerful thing.

No objective,

Upon completion or upon failure is of waste.

Used energy, is used energy, and should be acclaimed for its simplicity of use and objective, not its outcome.

The use of the given gift, the ability to control energy, should never be taken lightly, and this step should never - not be taken.

If I stay on the well-known path, I can blend in and never be followed.

If I make my own path, surely attempts to follow me will be made.

The paths I create will come with consequences.

If you will subject yourself to those, share my road and feel free to bask in such light as I have found and cultivated myself.