My arms are hurting, as the wind blows upon them, pulling away at the muscles and tearing at the hair as it whips around in the sunset of the horizontal view that we can all see.
My muscles hurt and these are the things that I must deal with.
I must be able to push on through, fists stretched forward. I must be able to push on through, fish stretched forward.
Once there, once the pain subsides I will be able to row on into the food of joy where the sun has melted into the sauce of reality and things will blend together in a dance known only to those who know the dance, for there is no knowing the knowing of the dance when it is a secret kept only by those who know what the secret is one that must be upheld in order to protect the knowledge that could be used for the purposes of misuse.
There are things that we must obey, and in order to obey them there are procedures that must be followed.
If there is a nail that can only be hit by using the common existence that we all must inhabit and share with each other, than one must raise their leg in order to open the door that leads to the tomb of all that which is not a butterfly in order to receive the chocolate orange of life diffused through a sieve, for there is no other way to say yes to the tree of the bee that inhabits within me.
I do know that sometimes when punching through nothingness a wall will be reached, as the immovable force of the punch will be met by the immovable emotions and stoic nature of the nothingness.
What could possibly happen if there is no solution to the root cause of the problem?
Surely the sea would know if there was a way across the body of its vast greatness.
Surely that there is a chance that it would know if the sky pressed down upon its being, forcing the answers out in a spray of wild mannerisms as waves crash over the land and engulf that which we hold dear, for this was the outcome we brought upon ourselves and must shed a tear and out own lack of compassion and great injustice that we commit upon the earth in order to make sure that we are as comfortable as possible, as we are separating ourselves more and more from nature and will one day find it to be something so alien to us that we dare not venture out of the comfort of our own homes.
Yes, there must be tears shed, for the death of humanity and nature is the death of the lives that we so verily lead in order to continue on with what we can and cannot do.
Tears must be shed, and the restoration of balance must be achieved, lest we wipe ourselves out.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 05:24:43
Not sure as to why this became really serious, but there you go.
Not too sure as to how I feel about this writing.
It certainly is something.
Written at work.