New Book Idea

The mind is a fickle enemy when tempted. Time has changed many things, but in those areas which matter the most it has gained no ground. We are who we are and there is no changing that. One can put on a mask, an act, one can play the part, but the actor is always the same underneath. Many choose not to admit this, many only admit the facts in the darkest caverns of their hearts. Humans are weak and pathetic. Merely observe the faces you see in everyday life. The expressions of weakness are all around us. We cower in fear. We put down our fellow man and smile with disgusting satisfaction, and those that know it is wrong smile along so that they do not appear weak before those that have no remaining compassion. Interestingly enough I am no great victim. Although I have taken my fair share, I was never bullied. On more than one occasion I was the on the opposite end. So why do I fight this existence of constant human infliction. I will explain. We are but an infection in these capsules that god made us. Man is the parasites grown forth from the purity in his own image. I am not particularly religious either so don’t be frightened.

When I was young, maybe 5, give or take a couple years, my mind would commandeer my eyes and steer them wildly into unseen territories. It all started in my parents’ room. It probably began before I can remember but the fact of the matter is, it continued into my days of recognition. Whenever frightened I would run into my parents room and jump into bed, like many children my age. However, I never slept, not once. Although it seemed safer wedged between my parents and under the covers, it was in no way less frightening. My demons thrived here. The ceiling fan became a giant spider and its eyes locked with mine. I looked down only to find ghoulish creatures in the bathroom. Covering my face with my hands, I rolled up like some frightened insect or crustacean. I peeked through my fingers, a different ghoul now stood in the bathroom doorway. I blinked. This ghoul vanished but another appeared at the edge of the bed.

Over time I came to realize that these monsters could never touch me. They were limited by their own falsity. Despite understanding the boundaries of their presence, they continued to grip my own existence with fear. Lying in my parents’ queen size bed, I watched for hours as the monsters cycled positions. First in the bathroom, then the doorway, and finally at the side of the bed, a different monster for every location, appearing in order, and one at a time.

In a year or two I was no longer frightened by them, and

I was wrong. Man exists to better himself. Man thrives to pursue metaphysical riches greater than those handed and dealt to him. I disgust me. Time is not an agent; time is the ground on which we walk. Man lays down the roads, man builds the cities, and we make the decisions on where to go next.

I am the branch caught in winter. All along, I was the corroded lens. Demon still whisper in my ears, and I listen. For often demons are ensnared within disguise and seek only a liberator to free them of dark’s burden. These eyes may see more than the world offers, but they are not broken. I cannot see in the dark, but there is no dark in this world, only planes of shade through which our own colors bleed.