Seasoning; reasoning.

Certain reasons require seasonings of epic proportions, which leads to failure of even bigger proportions.

We put the brakes on, halt them forever, and never look back. If there's anything you should exalt, it is Faith. Surely.

Faith is a bloody powerful energy. Churning, churning, churning.

Multiple Singularities.

He walked the aisle of works of architects, pondering hard and deep about the avalanche of endless problems, taking in polluted death air, deciphering manly situational behaviour, ripping facades apart and throwing friction into pits of no return. He dropped to his knees, the skies a strong magnetic force. His palms clasped together in an endless prayer, his heart burns for responsible answers and significant responses. 

The force tugged him skywards, rapid elevation in one direction. An expansive scenic view of little multi-bodied centipedes, scrawling in and out of tiny white blocks. The cityscape was beyond words can describe. For a minute, he allowed himself the luxury of taking all of it in. 

And then in struck him.

It struck him hard that the world has been nothing but in a sorry state of rapid disintegration. A disunited community of stitched up facades. The pale faces of living beings maimed by the central god of greed and freed. Individualistic mindsets living in a disoriented dystopia. The city lives for its own, the rural stinks of grotesque leftovers. The taller white blocks the epicentre, the shorter ones standalone as the first wall of defence. The rich pockets leather, the poor carries plastic. And within each community, selfish little pathetic beings living for themselves, fuelled by the need for greed. Possessions bounded by large metal boxes, money kept in bank for safekeeping. Sensitivity arouses by the second and the rainbows hardly ever appear. 

They exist, yes they do. They damn right do. But they exist in multiple singularities, living for their own, disregarding the obvious fact that they are One.

Then selfishly, he was thrown down to fend for himself once again.

One. Want. Want One. Need One.

Sidewalk

Throw up your arms and look to the skies. The composition of golden stars sprawled in the death of the chill. 

A man paces up and down the sidewalk. 

It gets colder and colder, the temperature an aggrevating hit of painful sharp blasts. The flowers wither in helplessness; the air migrates fickle-mindedly. The rich retreat back to their shelter, their children tucked in bed and fast asleep. 

The man took his final fall. Motionless and ready to submit. 

It never ends. Never.

Reciprocation is fatal.

I will tell you what man fears the most. It is undoubtedly to be the inaugural recipient of love he does not deserve. Yes it is, it always is. It renders man helpess and crippled, and what is expected of such detestable monster is akin to that of the expectation of a buried dog to its owner.

We live in this void-world of nothingness and shame. The battle to heaven is a long and painful one. The only way to go up is to see someone go down. That is the only way. One way.

Tethering motivation

There are two things a man needs: tragedies and shame.

It is only then that they will rise like an eagle; it is only then that they will go forth in what they believe in.

In love & death, they will rise. And they will soar. Like never ever fucking before.

Faith

Articulating stimulation, reversing melancholy, racing hearts and nervous toes: the time has come for the man to speak.

A beautifully crafted speech after hours and hours of hard work and tired thoughts, the man took his place behind the rostrum.

Scanning the entire parade of little men and women, the man took a deep breath.

Heavyset and with an actionable movement of the tummy, the man scanned through the parade of little men and women. They hushed in unison, naturally presenting attention to whom it may concern.

It fell to a black wave of silence.

The man looked down at his hours of hard work.

Articulating stimulation, reversing melancholy, racing hearts and nervous toes: the time has come for the man to speak.

Disregarding all the effort he had put into the transcript, he offered to the waiting crowd a grim statement of not more than 6 words.

Thereafter, the man retreated in style to roaring applause and encouraging cheers. What an epicentre of strength and class.

"I am the Faith you seek."

Have I told you?

Have I told you about how I set myself on this train of fire, train of thoughts, dealing with never ending speculations of corrective protection, new world order and an less-than-likely achievable weekly dosage of inner nirvana, wrapped like a gift box, chorus in unison a silent melody, and most importantly, captivated by a cacoon of emphasized blood-shed prose and thoughts?

Have i told you?