This biography that I have been writing has now ended up in the wrong hands. Instead of the girl of my dreams it is now resting on the table of a soulless street merchant. Now all those tales of my life's lesson's are available for sale. They are now just a cheap trick. The fare for it is more than that of a carnival ride's two second mind fuck so it is natural to assume no child will sought or fight for my survival.
The riddles I could never quite solve will now, I fear, be scoffed at in simplicity as the today's children hover over porno magazines with a look of torment; however, not from the girls posing in akward positions but from their incapacity to fathom how any civilized man could master-bate to such tribal quality entertainment.
If I ever was anything it'd be the equivalency of a classical musician's unheard score; yet, destined to be forever nothing more than a mere memory of a long ago forgotten melody. Some beaten down drum left by a child's bedside as he brushes off those childish dreams of fame and face the hardships of reality.
God, if he exists (as I imagine he does) used a gentle hand to inscribe my fate in a foreign dialect that is only distinguishable by God and only God. Am I to see it? I shall never know. When time comes for me to see what I should have done will be the day I am found drowned in a depth of contemplation.
With this I feel no sadness nor grief; it is the wheel of life, the motion of existence. A new morning's sun replaces yesterday's shine. I just hope one day as I do God's biding I am lucky enough to arrive in one of the galaxies or parallel universe's which God has designed to be a soul who stumbles across the work my soul (here and now) completes and leaves behind just as Autumn abandons her leaves each season of every year we can recall.
The riddles I could never quite solve will now, I fear, be scoffed at in simplicity as the today's children hover over porno magazines with a look of torment; however, not from the girls posing in akward positions but from their incapacity to fathom how any civilized man could master-bate to such tribal quality entertainment.
If I ever was anything it'd be the equivalency of a classical musician's unheard score; yet, destined to be forever nothing more than a mere memory of a long ago forgotten melody. Some beaten down drum left by a child's bedside as he brushes off those childish dreams of fame and face the hardships of reality.
God, if he exists (as I imagine he does) used a gentle hand to inscribe my fate in a foreign dialect that is only distinguishable by God and only God. Am I to see it? I shall never know. When time comes for me to see what I should have done will be the day I am found drowned in a depth of contemplation.
With this I feel no sadness nor grief; it is the wheel of life, the motion of existence. A new morning's sun replaces yesterday's shine. I just hope one day as I do God's biding I am lucky enough to arrive in one of the galaxies or parallel universe's which God has designed to be a soul who stumbles across the work my soul (here and now) completes and leaves behind just as Autumn abandons her leaves each season of every year we can recall.
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