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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, 10 January 2018

The House of Beautiful Things

There would be no water, not even in a house built on such deep foundations. So she walked away and bred her light on new sands. And like all great adventurers the sadness she felt was soon eclipsed by the wonders she encountered.

Trees grew in once brutal soil, here she found comfort, joy, freedom, the freedom to find the lost person she could barely remember trapped in that house of such deep foundations.

Here spirits of wild beings and other broken souls floated gently on warm currents of ethereal tones and she embraced them and slow danced to their music.

Before long she was singing too, about a reckless man who had no right to hold her heart in his rough hands and the front door she slammed in his face.

He only told her she was beautiful when he made her cry and she grew weary of being beautiful.
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