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Glorious Death

In a life insignificant as it may seem, the momentous glory of death is what stands out shining bright at the end of the dark, dingy, dank tunnel I call life. Strange that these words spew from my conscious at a time when my mind and body seem to be accomplishing far more than I have all along. And yet again.


Zen and the Art of Procrastination

This article epitomises the Art of Procrastination as we know it. I grew up.. waitaminit! that was one of the first things I procrastinated. I’m yet to do so and I doubt such an event will ever come to pass. Our society identifies growth in human context as accumulation of wealth, property, mate(s), offspring and grey hair. I of course refuse to concur and continue with my spartan existence in the face of such opulence.

As few of you may have noticed, I deviated from the decided subject which would be labelled in the annals of history as another excellent attempt at procrastination. This article came about as an attempt to stop procrastinating and get a grip on my life as I live it today. My abode is in shambles, my mate(s) missing, my friend(s) far away, my appearance unkempt, my accounts empty, my bills unpaid, my debtors unplacated and my dreams unfulfilled. Where does that leave me? Why rock-bottom of course! I’m here at the doorstep of my destiny and I sit here waiting for tomorrow to step through in to paradise. This my dear readers is my predicament pristine. Pristine i say as it is untouched by the cleansing fires of action till today. Tomorrow of course is another story for tomorrow comes.. I will be a famous painter commanding astronomical figures for mere signatures, lolling around in my harem full of heavenly bodies of varied ethnicity, mind sharp as an eagle’s eye and body tuned taut to respond unconsciously to the Tao. The world would clamor and claw to grab a glimpse of this hero in these desperate times. Such fortune will be borne at my footstep – tomorrow.

So if you have been folowing this piece of literature till the last syllable, I implore you to stop using this magnificent excuse to kill time and instead go live your dreams and kill your devious mind with a swift slash and furious thrust! If however you have already chosen to skip right through the article to this line, hallowed be thy name for thou art a true practitioner of the Art of Procrastination.


Where to my friend?

Walking through the long corridor of railway tracks and high ceilings with the audience watching with dark, cold, stony eyes was nothing out of the ordinary. Yet this place where animals, creatures of bizarre fantasies created from an ancient gothic mind’s disturbed definitions seemed to be teeming with life; macabre and melodramatic. Every single eye was centered on his existence. He lived in a city where the norm was to be ignored, existence was ghostly. People walked on without a care, not even a glance at the myriad mobs meandering their individual insanities through the asylum of life. A sign ahead of him read “Death is just another stage of life”. He smiled wryly at its incoherent irony. The crowds swirled around him like a ballet performance by Sufi saints invoking the divine through their concentric circles. Without a moment’s pause the merry dance pulsed to a rhythm devoid of timing and irrespective of the limitations of space.


Baa Baa Black Sheep

‘The black sheep’ they called him. They screamed hysterically and mumbled obscenities as he came into range. Tongues wagged and eyes blazed as he approached. Whispers echoed in the echelons of his conscious. He walked on biting the bullet and swallowing the bitter pill with all the stoic he could muster. ‘Always keep death in mind’ he told himself as he walked on towards a better view. Every step he took brought him closer and closer to the fear that echoed in people’s minds. ‘Isn’t he the one? Look at him now!’ Like excerpts from classic literature and blurbs on a book cover the paranoid paraphrases stabbed at his innards with malicious intent. The scrambled schizoid sentences cut like a scythe as they slice zig-zigzagged across his soul.

He walks on. Never talking, justs keep walking…



A Samurai must show sympathy towards all people.

Once the Samurai came across a small village, where a tailor had his little shop. As he quenched his thirst at a local tavern, he couldn’t but overhear how impopular the tailor seemed. He apparently did his best to become rich at the poor villagers’ expense. Since he was the only tailor in the area, he was able to have much higher prices than he actually needed for making ends meet.
Suddenly a man ran into the tavern, screaming “Help! My house is on fire! Help me put it out!” A silence spread across the room. Some of the men looked into the cups, others ignored him completely. A few of the men in the tavern mumbled something to eachother, and the Samurai realized that it was the tailor, whose house was on fire.
The Samurai looked out through the door at the tailor’s house, and saw that little could be done to save it. The house was engulfed in flames, and anything inside was certain to be burnt beyond recognition.
“My house and furniture! All my textile! And all my money!” cried the tailor. One of the men in the tavern stood up and shouted “That’s what you get for your greed! Don’t come looking here for sympathy, when you charged us with prices much higher than we could afford. I for certain won’t help you put out the fire. Maybe your lust for fortune and wealth will diminish now!” and agreeing murmurs were heard from many others in the room.
The tailor fell to his knees and sobbed, while slurring undistinguishable words. The Samurai looked at him and then said, “Don’t hurt your knees on the floor and your eyes with the tears, because they are not spent on things gone forever. If you truly love your profession, you will find it alot easier than you probably imagine to start all over again. If you don’t, then I pity you for spending so many years on something, that wouldn’t have meant anything even if the house hadn’t burned down. Here, take this money that I have. To me it doesn’t do much apart from giving me a couple of cups of sake at whatever local tavern I happen to stop by. Spend it on whatever you happen to love, as long as you don’t wipe your tears with it.” The Samurai left the tavern and the village.



A Samurai must show courage and contempt for death.

The Samurai was on his way to the capital city of his Daimyo’s neighbouring country, carrying an invitation to the wedding of his master’s daughter. He had been walking on foot for quite a few days now, and was beginning to feel a bit weary after all this travelling. However, he felt that his journey was soon coming to an end, and felt light at heart and hurried his steps.
He trudged across a grass covered plain, when he suddenly spotted a large cloud of black smoke rising from what looked like a small cottage. He hurried onward, and soon realized that the cottage was completely on fire, and he saw a small group of people standing outside. As he came closer, he noticed a young woman, who seemed to be struggling for her life in the hands of a couple of men. He promptly ran over to the group and demanded to know what was going on, and why they were holding the woman.
“Her daughter’s still trapped inside the house, and she wants to go get her. It’s suicide we tell’er, but she won’t listen.”
“Is anyone in there getting her daughter back?” asked the Samurai, looking at the men.
“Well, no. Just look at the house! It’s too late, we tell’er! Her daughter is probly dead by now, anyway.”
The Samurai looked at the woman, who was screaming and thrashing, desperately trying to break free from the men holding her. He turned his look at the men in the group and he saw fear in their eyes. He mumbled some well-chosen words about the men, took off his backpack and his swords, and ran in through the open door into the blazing fire. Had had taken a deep breath before he entered the door, but the smoke still entered his lungs, making him cough and breath in even more of the smoke. While cursing himself for not having asked the men for the name of the girl, he kept shouting “Hello!” in case the girl was still conscious and alive and could hear him. A bursting flame suddenly set his shirt on fire, but he didn’t notice it in his desperate attempt to find the girl. He stumbled into the smoke filled kitchen, which seemed to be the room, which was least ravaged by the fire, and looked under the kitchen table. There he saw the small girl, a girl that couldn’t have been more than a couple of years old, lying on the floor. The Samurai noticed that she was still breathing, but heavily and coughing wildly. When he stretched out his arms she opened her eyes and cried out, pointing at his shoulder. Only then did he notice the burning shirt, which he quickly pulled off, but it still managed to burn his hair a great deal. Suddenly being aware of his fire damaged back and shoulder, he felt the pain from the heavily burnt flesh and skin. Nevertheless he scooped up the little girl in his arms and started off toward the exit, but he didn’t get far until parts of the ceiling in the outer room suddenly collapsed, turning it into an inferno of burning timber and furniture.
The Samurai looked around for a window in the kitchen, but none was to be found. He cursed himself again, this time for not bringing his swords, for he realized he would not be able to break through any of the still solid walls. Only one other option remained, and that was through the way he entered. He looked up at the ceiling, and the remaining beams seemed to be able to collapse any second. Still, without any other alternatives, he clutched the girl tightly to his chest, took a run and jumped over the burning wood covering the kitchen door.
The heat was unbearable, and hit him with full force as he landed heavily on the floor in the outer room. For a moment he feared that the floor would give, but luckily it only creaked loudly, but he realized that time was not on his side this time, and if he did not leave the house quickly, they would not stand a chance of surviving. He climbed over burning furniture and collapsed beams, desperately trying to ignore the hellish flames licking his feet and legs. He looked up, and saw that the outer door was only a few more feet in front of him. His heart raced, but by this time he had inhaled so much of the treacherous smoke, that his vision was getting blurred and his chest was becoming more painful than he could stand. Suddenly he heard a loud crash somewhere above him. He made a move towards the door, but a sharp pain in the neck stopped him, as a collapsing beam hit him straight in the back of his head. He toppled over, still clutching the girl in his arms, heavily to the floor, and he felt a large nail being driven into his back.
The Samurai lost consciousness for a moment, and he had trouble re-orientating himself, but the flames all around him quickly reminded him where he was, and he moved his head with great difficulty to check on the girl. She seemed to have survived unscathed, and small eyes filled with fear met his. He tried to stand up, but the large wooden beam was still on top of him, and an intense pain in his back told him the large nail was still imbedded in him. Large flames were closing in around them, and the Samurai realized he wouldn’t be able to move without ripping open his back. He looked out through the door and saw the group of men looking at the burning house from a safe distance. He thought about his alternatives and quickly came to a decision. With the force of desperation, he strained his legs and arms, and managed to lift the beam a few inches. With his left hand he grabbed hold of the little girl and heaved her forward through the open door, where she landed a few feet into the open air. One of the men in the group saw the girl and ran forward, snatching her up and running off again to her awaiting mother. Then the Samurai could no longer hold himself up, and fell forward once again, driving the nail deeper into his back. He looked up through the smoke, seeing the mother clutching her daughter, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Always Keep Death In Mind

Had I not known that I was dead already I would have mourned my loss of life. Both the victor and the vanquished are but drops of dew, but bolts of lightning - thus should we view the world.
May 2019
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Color me Red

Freedom, impulse, emotion and fire are what I value. Instant gratification and acting on my gut feeling; my first love. At my best, I am passionate and decisive. Shortsighted and destructive at my worst. I'm a flamboyant fireball!

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