If I had free time, I would start my own religion. If I was someone famous like Jude Law I could name it after myself, Judaism...
Rats, that one’s taken.

Rule #1 for my unnamed religion - No killing people, period.

I would banish the idea of heaven and hell.
A perfect heaven is a flawed construct created by an imperfect human, usually the perfectionist who strives to exert his/her nature on life and life after.
Hell is just wanting everything bad that has ever happened to oneself, to happen on those whom that one can’t get along with, and worse.

If I were to become a follower of my religion, first I would spend many years in solitude, meditating. I’d have to break certain relationships and shirk certain duties for a while.

My heart is beating, I am still breathing, but why am I so uninspired? I feel like the sun falling off the edge of the world.

I believe my heart bends in the wind. Music and love rock my heart, but ill storms my heart too often. I am swayed between despair and dissolution, oh what serpentine venom. My heart is not made for strife.

Tranquility, it is a fools longing. Not on a comfortless plane of humans and their misery. And to long endlessly, that is a virtue only for the true lover. It is not easy to realise something for what it is, and to hate it for what its worth. Not when it is a self image.

It is not innocence lost, more a brute blade thrust through the cage and into the heart. And when deprived of all hope which would have lasted till tomorrow, I am made to beg on my knees for love which was meant for yesterday.

~
Taking a bite at life is for the gambler and the idealist. Sometimes both take the wrong side of the apple. Safer to blend the apple whole, seeds skin and all.
Only children eat the bruise parts, and the curious the worm. Blessed be the curious, for they get to taste more than just the apple….

~
Democracy is so yesterday. Skepticism works today and will still work for tomorrow.

Pitching soul string forest fire swing boy feather connect heartbeat.

Move onto space spread out of wood.

Disconnection.

This moment never last long. There is clarity. The buzz of alcohol is subtle, its weight has not moved from my belly to my head yet. There is freshness on the skin, on the lips. Kissing makes my senses light. The breaths of cigarette smoke after the shower tingle my lungs.
I am chemically complete. Intoxicated but only in the slightest, it’s the perfection of the balance that inebriates me.
Drunk on my toes, lifted up by my imagination hoping to touch a blissful height. But where does my head go?

London was another one of those kinky ideas which didn’t materialize due to a short boner.

My dear cousin brought it to my attention that when she read a piece of mine in Form 1, she thought it distasteful and highly pretentious. I said to myself then, “Bravo old chap. We both knew about the pretentious part! The least you could do was make it less conspicuous.”

I wonder, where our writing take us these days.