The light cast by the moon dissolved itself into faint ripples which coalesced in rhythmic harmony across the dark pool laying just within view of an inhabited room amidst vacant shadowed brethren. The sole consciousness within a mile of that listless pool was one, Gregory Horst. A romantic fellow, whose life had become shrouded in doubt, with paranoia ever present, sulking its way into his fettered consciousness, plaguing his once bright ambition, mutating it into sorrowed monotony. This night like many, had reserved Gregory’s hours of blissful sleep for purposes much less restful. His battered form, once filled with glowing warmth, had been transformed into a hollowed husk. What did remain from his once-lustreous personage, had been marred and scarred and brought to wrinkles.

How many hours had he been awake since his last brief sleep? Had it been a day or two, or had he merely been...

The first day of Winter brings with it a bitter-sweet chill which permeates each layer of clothing the same as if it weren’t there. The sensation reminds me of childhood, and the mornings spent preparing my body to withstand the extreme cold beyond my front door - layering more and more clothes in intricate fashions as to barricade and diminish the cold and its awful effects. Those memories are filled with a nostalgiac haze, reminiscient of the season’s discolouration - greyer and bluer than any other season and so much more surreal.

It has always been the faintly tinged light of winter that alerts me to the first snowfall and all that comes with it. It is as if the colour alone is enough to convince me to cover up and defend against the ghastly creeping cold - foreshadowed the long and winding winter, a stark contrast to the year’s warmer months leading up to it. All things must come...

I delved to find myself, but alas I rejected that which I found.

It’s a funny thing, self-reflection: a very sharp double-edged-sword, indeed. Whilst it frequently can provide us with powerful insights into our troubles and present us a compendium of epiphanies fit for publishing, it too can open up our deepest and more reviled histories for perusal which, when left unchecked, may lead one down the path of madness. This corruption of self-reflection becomes self-deception: a very dangerous practice. One who is left to architect his own reality may choose to forego common sense in favour of exciting fallacies, for who among us would choose powerless normalcy over phenomenal godhood? These desires can be found in even the littlest of children, but existence does not destine such desires any worth. Self-reflection must seen as a tool, which when properly used may lead one to live a...

I came to this belief whilst doing my first acid trip years ago, and have since become ever more sure, and recently it has been written about by all manner of people, but essentially it boils down to this (Using my Metaphors):

Consciousness is not the experience, but rather, the measurement of the experience.

It is the quantification/qualification(understanding/emotion) of what transpires into an abstract form which is connected via association to any and all possible other abstractions which have measured previously. We call this understanding, forming ideas. These ideas sort-of build off of each other in that they are unique in some way, and their combinations are also unique. The basic fundamental ideas(parts) are those which form a greater idea(Whole), and any time an idea has similarities, it is because it shares similar foundations. (Imagine Prime numbers as the Unique parts &amp...

It had been almost 5 years since Richard had met with Robin, and a interesting time for one at that. For the past two years Richard had been plagued by chronic depression. This dark new perspective on life had made Richard’s life much more difficult than anything he had previously gone through. This meeting would be much different from the last time, when both he and Robin had been living simpler, more optimistic lives. They were to meet at 4:30 PM near the old statue they had frequented in their hey-days. The time was 4:22 PM and Richard was the first to arrive.

Richard and Robin had always been a odd couple of people. Both were exceedingly smart, but whose passions varied wildly. Richard had always been obsessed with the pursuit of knowledge and understanding. He passionately chased after new experiences and would devour information from any source he could find whether it be book...

The faint breeze blowing across the lightly populated patio did little to alleviate the thick stifling heat which permeated every inch of the summer air. Muggy, and stagnant, the moisture suffocated the patrons of Rick’s, a local pub of little importance. As he sat and watched the people milling by, Viktor was reminded of the humid atmosphere as condensation formed on his cold glass of that day’s daily special. Today, it was the pub’s own house lager, Citrus Breeze, which Viktor comfortably nursed. A crisp, light fare, with a slight tart aftertaste which left a dry feeling along one’s gums, perfect for pairing with a their turkey club and mixed greens: another of the daily specials.

Viktor frequented Rick’s often, for he found their company pleasant. They had a reasonable menu, good prices, and a courteous staff who would provide both conversation and silence when appropriate. A simple...

Remind myself. Re-mind myself. Reevaluate my mind.

As a child, I always wondered as to why people would wish to take drugs of any kind, for I myself hated even taking medicine, and recreational drugs just didn’t “make-sense” to my youthful self. I would see those horrible commercials designed to dissuade young-adults, and scare them onto the straight-and-narrow, but these commercials never did much in the way of making me disapprove of drugs, rather they disgusted me, scared me, and sometimes made me feel guilty just for being lumped into the same category as these “junkies.” This guilt was especially apparent when I should happen to watch them alongside my mum who would then usually turn to me and say, “You know not to do drugs, right?” I always answered yes, but as I grew older I realized that I did not know not to do drugs, but rather I had been told frequently not to do drugs...

By no means are we free from such issues as ageism, sexism, and racism, but alas, there exists a new threat which looms on our horizon: Creditism. A class-based system which believes itself to be able to understand people just off of three numbers. Amazing, right? Look how far we have come! We can know everything we want to know about people, without having to get to know them, see their reasons, or understand their methods. Now, we need only look at their credit rating and their entire life is laid bare before us. Oh, is one of those numbers is not like the rest? Well, lucky for us, this is nothing more than a herald brought forth to show us the light. We should probably see this herald for what it is, and recognize that this person is a good for nothing low-life, with more debt than he can swim out of, and the fact that he is never going anywhere is clear as day by the numbers he...

A spark of light,

A chip of rock,

Power unleashed,

with purpose sought.

A tempered chaos,

brought to width.

Destruction wreathed

and Holy lit.

Passion burns alied the wick,

and with it, purpose formed.

Alas, of finite length and width,

So too may it be scorned.

Though waxy passion still resides,

its form has all been lost.

Until a wick is deftly placed,

direction it haseth not.

This wick will come when it is time,

its light will lead your way,

and once again a flame will fire,

thus your heart will yearn to play.