#cees_dsm_chall#mirakee#writersnetwork#pod The lines used here of Roger Waters is 'You raise the blade, you make the change'. This post is written against increasing police brutality in various parts of the world.
sixty in a minute. three thousand six hundred in an hour. eighty six thousand four hundred in a day. and thirty one million five hundred thirty six thousand in a year.
time, and its mathematical delusions. the concept of being engraved into the thought of being a part of an infinitesimal universe. nothing less than a worth measured by a single grain of sand amidst an infinite collection of others.
i remember how much of us were similar to them. like leaves amongst the autumn forest, a snowflake in winter. about how much we're so entitled to this originality of being complexly detailed and unique. in a sense that no one will ever replicate us nor does anyone try to do so. well, at least in a general sense.
we wanted to be somebody other than what we are, someone worth remembering. because we're just a speck of everything else, refined to become a part of a cascade of existences. trying to take a spot as much as it should because we're so utterly afraid. to become just another second in a clockwork that doesn't know when to stop.
i've long written disappointing things way too many times that i couldn't settle anymore of what's less than i think is adjustable for an understatement. about everything else being conceptually intertwined as to how a drop of coffee was never more than a thousand mugs of somebody else's wine.
sixty in a minute, and that's all we got before the colors of the sky change from pastel pink to a darker hue of blue. and i'm still here sitting by the edge of the roof, legs dangling below, and wondering what it must've felt like if oblivion had only one star. we would've been more curious of it than we would've of the moon.