In the world, we breed; we pass down on our knowledge, our differences and similarities to our kin. We all sit with our heads in the sandbox at some point or another. Heads down to the fact the worlds turns again, decisions ripple round the earth changing landscapes, and we’re a too busy still fighting each other, I can’t even imagine what the world out there is really like, but I’ve seen eyes that do know. And those eyes tell stories.
The world made me this way, I say this lightly, no blame; I don’t have any time for blame anymore, for a long time. But the place itself, changing, often throws obstacles for us to overcome. We’re guests of this planet, the entire bunch of us. Choices made my own, and I can be grateful for that, the responsibility I have for my actions are my own, and that’s the same as the 6.8 billion others here too.
In truth don’t we have a responsiblity, to be an example to the rest of the world? We could be so much more.
I can hear the small voice in the back of my head creeping out, speaking in the voice of the people,
“You can’t help everyone” “People bring it on themselves” “I do my part” “no one helped me”
If I can hear them, you’ve heard them, somewhere along the line of this life you’ve come to a cross-road, your conscious has pushed you forward in another direction.
I often speak with, one of the homeless down by the local co-op; the shop doesn’t like him outside, and I’m sure the pedestrians find it awkward as a cash machine is just feet away from the lad. But I like it, I don’t presume to know all his dark secrets, but I see him.
He doesn’t have a hope in the world, I’m not sure what he can do really, he could head to the job centre, get accommodation, because he’s someone who really needs help, but regressed so far that he needs guidance all the way. Is that, what we’ve left behind? Our own people broken deep down there somewhere. Our hearts and souls pushed further down the consciousness piling reason upon reason again.
We all write stories, it’s in our blood to leave our mark on the world, a little more dignified through opinions and words rather than… well… marking your territory, after all were mammals.
Trace back your Facebook account to the day you opened it and you’ve got a personal record of your past thoughts, that and the infamous “What’s on your mind”, who you were talking then, how many friends may have come and gone. Read it back through and read your own novel.
It seems every time I make it two steps forward it always ends in me having taken four steps backwards. It’s always been this way; it’s not something I’m totally agreeing with. Were all born with something wrong with us after all? Just trying to make my own way, wasn’t blessed luck, I did not receive the big box, wrapped with a bow and a card saying “lots of luck” on top, I think I forgot to pick mine up. (Just saying, it doesn’t really bother me either because) I was given love, and everything and more than many others may have killed for. The love I did not always return in the way it should have been.
A lot of us, poor, coping, rich. All have it better than others somewhere else, and in all the most random of thoughts right now, I wish I was a musician, music can do all sorts of healing, and I’m sure in a mad max apocalyptic world we will all need good tunes to get us by. Even still now, I think we should use our gifts to change the world in our liking. In our hopes and desires, because in a hundred years, the world will be facing up to the choices we make now.
I write this at 8.45am, Friday. September…
It’s our future.