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"Life is supposed to be difficult," he said taking a long swig for his ornate hip flask, "It’s the struggle against the infinite violence of a universe.” I smiled, perhaps he was right or perhaps he was just an asshole making it up as he went along, but the gravity of his remark struck me unexpectedly. The default to life was indeed struggle, for all life not just intelligent life; why would I be exempt. I didn’t care for the man and his insidious gloat of pomposity. Nothing is absolute, nothing certain, which makes the possibilities boundless. The joy of life is making it from one moment to the next through adversity and earning the things the things people say about you when you arrive at your freshly dug grave carried by those you hold dearest.

Wednesday, 17 February 2016

The Good Man

The best kiss he ever had was a punch to the face, because mama never loved him and papa didn’t care and Jesus Christ came and went and he was still too much of a sinner.

What he saw on the streets were bankers mugging old ladies and Preachers doing the same but in the name of made up gods, Politicians spreading fear as if it were peace and doctors handing out useless drugs.

It was easy to see why he had to be, in all the deception, angry and discontent he’d seen the other end of a nightstick, Polar bears were melting, Pandas wouldn’t fuck and dolphins drowned in pools of human waste.

So he went to war and lost every battle with out so much as a shot. The amorphous “They” that make it happen buried him in red tape and garbled nonsense slandered between the printed sheets. It was then the man found the death of principles and morality just a distant concept.

There was no freedom, no love, no greater power fighting for good, just the thinly plastered follies of good men and bad gods.
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