by Art Moran

Created on: July 20, 2008   Last Updated: December 26, 2008

~Journal Entry # 267~ July 21st, 2008

Sitting in the midst of evolution, unable to procure a solution, the intrusion of ignorance, hinders my mind. In the pale shadows, apparitions surround, whispering echoes, of a life without.

It's rather uncanny, this inhumanity, but still it's as fresh, as when Adam and Eve roamed about. History repeats itself, the lessons unchanged, still we endeavor, to become enslaved.

Conformity... A mind sharing harmony?, or a deceitful lie?, either way, it appears freedoms denied.

I escape in the moment, raising my sword, my words cold and empty, as my anger fuels my righteous desires to explore. New horizons, victory, the tranquil illusion, of a life I've never quite had the pleasure to live.

They say we should be grateful, humble, lowly, and meek... But my adrenaline amps, my dreams are real, my chips are all in, and I am ready to advance, in this game called life.

Play by numbers, connect the dots, capitalism's dogma, leaves us all in the dust. Money hungry mongrel's , set us free, living in style, consumed by demands based on economic relief.

Desires wrought by pleasure and pain.

Still there's no quarter, no level of peace, for every penny acquired, we're robbed, as we pretend to be free. We're all slaves to something, pills, pot, potions, sex, gambling, or greed... Yet they cannot sustain us, still we refuse to believe!

Sinister minds, uncontrollable thoughts, in a quest for power, rule, domination, and war. Move over Satan, we're coming home... Cause we're all just as twisted as you, seeking some form of understanding, as we attempt to control our own fate.

All of us... Wicked, evil, nasty wretches, I too am a sinner, no better than the rest... So who are you to preach your lies?, typical heretical hypocrisy, wrapped in a cloth, hiding behind a cross, for the only one who spoke so wise

When the four horsemen come, I'll be facing front... Welcoming the wrath of God... For just as we we're born, we shall be entertained by death.

Swift may it be, for I'm longing to see, what lies I might find, on the other side.

Should I be an honored slave to God? Should I be ignorantly enslaved to man? Truth be told, doesn't really matter, cause I'm already a slave to myself!

Did I ask to come here? Never recall asking to be born... Yet for all that I sought, found, loved, and hated... I know... No one holds the answers to the riddles I explore.

I respect creation, thus I believe there's something divine, controlling this glimpse of spiritual harmony, a sixth

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