Untitled
I have seemingly been here for an eternity, wasting with time, and wasting with life. It goes on unceasingly, never stopping in its onslaught of wrath, it's onslaught of death and more such ruinations. It's continued souring has brought upon its inhabitants a festering feeling of outer and self doubt, doubt in the world and its sustenance of the people en-masse, its sustenance in it's very own existance as a producing world. The doubt infects society and communities, it infects the fiber of the world, the binding threads, until the doubt turns to fear, fear of that which would develop, that which would better, that which would be uncomprensibe to the near seeing eyes of Earth. The fear would fester, seeping into the souls of the martyers, the souls of the mongers, it would infect the world to the point of explosion, and the explosion would occur, the lives that had subsisted, the lives that had wandered in exploration of the surfaces on which they were born, these lives, these dreams, end and lay to rest, the world.
Search
Drinking from the dripping sap of life, I live as an anomaly, I search through the universe for a sign of hope, of restoration to my previous world of utopian paradise, a world of pacifistic anarchy, were poverty and war is mythology, and warmth and love of the Earth is spread like butter over the land. I yearn for the oasis of the galaxy, and loathe those who have found it. I am a wanderer, a hitchhiker of unknown, unsearched lands, and without hesitation I convict myself to continue in my search for the Garden of Eden, that we mortal humans are too wretched and violent to inhabit. My thirst and hunger is for a land of laze and leisure, of love and harmony, of peaceful bonds unbroken by the wearing of time.