Kindling or a spark?

 It has been a long time since I've sat down to write, chaos, trauma, and the everlasting run from one place to another all in hopes to outpace reality. Nothing though, can truly stop you from finding yourself, after all wherever you go/are well—there you are. It has been a difficult start to be as straightforward as possible. My mind, rendered, I cannot make amends with my own sense of survival. Thus I fear I overreact but frankly it hasn't failed me so far. Oh the wicked though, how irrational and reactive. Egos are fragile things, to be shattered by the light of another is poor judgement of your self, a denial of our own godhead. Not my problem, but above all don't make it my problem, I tend to deal with those. Don't we all just get along so much faster if we help one another? Habits are hard to break though, life has not been as kind to some and after all our best can only be attained through some sort of trial by fire, but we can't be kindle all of our lives. Be it coal to slowly burn and warm the hearth or a spark to set a blaze and start the fire, we must make a choice at one point. I think that is something we all must do, is to choose how we will react. Some choose anger, hatred, and physical harm; these are all valid as some individuals do need to be handled with a spear and net, but ultimately from my part that only happens when the beast roars. Or we can use our minds and actually internalize, analyze, and choose a best course of action and not just reaction. When we come to terms with our choices and their respective outcomes, we can make sure that our judgements are well informed and to the best of your and the groups wellbeing. That last part there is key though, because if there's something any of us can truly do is think beyond the immediate and into our future. The tide raises all boats and all that. Sadly we live in this world, and this is just a fable.

Happy Green Trees

Sun shines through leafy green trees, all lined up on street medians cutting the black asphalts poignant composition upon what once was their home. Lined up, one by one, they wait in silence. There is little that they say to one another, besides the usual whispers carried by the wind. Last year it was the passing of a beautiful oak tree near the intersection of ninth and 32nd ave. There was a bit of an explosion as the internal combustion engine of the Maserati slammed against the ancients bark. Flames over took this majestic being and burnt every bit of green, the fire burned for over an hour before the fire department put it completely out. By this time though, the beautiful green was gone from this one tree in particular, and its bark damaged. This is when the city decided that the trees were much to dangerous... or rather, the money of the Maserati's owners thought so. Their child, who'd been driving intoxicated wasn't to blame, not at all! Rather, it seemed more fitting for the trees to be blamed, after all they didn't have twelve lawyers and the backing of a family fortune that spans over generations. No, the tree was definitely to blame. As soon as Mrs. X showed up in the office of the mayor on that morning, the trees knew what was to come. Soon they had all kinds of little people climbing on top, tying themselves to their giant branches. This was all so surprising to them! They were unable to move, and had mostly decided that if they were to die then what best place than that very spot where they were born, next to their brethren and fellow trees. Some of the humans though, some whom they'd known as children crossing the street, brushing their hands against the strong bark, made it clear they appreciated their shade and free oxygen by spending entire days and nights at their trunk to make sure no one hurt them. Eventually the rich family gave in, and decided that it probably wasn't such a good idea to cut down such majestic beings, who had often covered their subtle and fragile skin from the sun as they drove in their convertibles down ninth. They bought out the street, built a bridge by-pass, and allowed the trees to grow and have even more friends and green around them. It was beautiful.

This story is fiction, all of it. Even the way in which humans behave, that is also fiction. It's all fiction, the whole thing. This makes me sad.