It has been too long. I could almost say it has been impossibly long but mentally I tally up the days and I come to a conclusion. 13 days it has been. 312 hours have passed either in restful sleep or in twisting torment. 18,720 minutes have passed by many leaving me to ponder what has happened. 1,123,200 seconds unaccounted for. Mentally I tally up again what I did during those days. I know I was busy. I know I did something to pass the time by. Still does any of that time matter? I could possibly add up a whole minute and have something that would brighten the darkness of a wasted youth. Wait counted it up again. It would be 10 minutes of time total that were bright and shiny. Small moments that have added up together. Taking by themselves each are small and would mean nothing to most people. Ah… but to me those moments were the bright points the fill up my life. A thousand moments each by themselves could fill a lifetime. Little moments like those which allow me to tally up an otherwise wasted 2 weeks and know that I did receive something. I could not really name what I seek. It is not salvation. It was never redemption. Perhaps what I seek is something close to intimacy.

I often try to not let it build up inside of me. But how can I compete with 13 days. A magical number in itself. How can I compete against the 312 hours that passed by some slowly and others burning like flash paper in darkness? The 18720 minutes tell me that I waited too long and that telling myself that I will not let it build up inside of me is self delusion. It is impossible to change the past. That is what those moments compete against. A lifetime full of those moments but on the other side of the coin. What stops the healing process is I wont allow myself to forget. That hinders the forgiveness. As I remember vividly those memories that will haunt me. I will not forget however nor will I forgive. Denied forgiveness I am stuck in a circular path. Slowly digging deeper into the earth. 6 feet the depth will be and a decision will be made. Either forced or it will be a natural conclusion. It is evolution baby because all endings are the start of a new beginning. Now listen carefully because the chorus is radio friendly and almost catchy…

‘all I have to do is believe
In the things that believe in me
My ends justify my means
As my means will be my end’

According to a website every day 24,000 people die of hunger. In my 13 days 312,000 people died waiting for nourishment. Every hour 1,000 people die. That means every minute 16.6 people die. I wonder if the .6 means they suffer for a minute before the next one comes along to free them from their torture. Every 3.5 seconds another person dies. So by time you finish reading this sentence someone has died. Feels good doesn’t it? What it doesn’t. Too bad because another person has died while I played with your emotions. It doesn’t really feel like anything at the moment. Perhaps you should let it build up inside of you and build up and build up… until you explode into a mushroom cloud of rage.

My ends justify my means. I wonder how many religions have used that in the past? How many people have died because of that phrase? So what is my end? What drives me? That I still do not really know as what I seek is difficult to name. I could probably spend a lifetime trying to decipher it. Actually I kind of am spending a lifetime on it. One spent quickly like burning a field of dry weeds for warmth. I shall be the flame that will burn bright briefly then disappear leaving a cloud of smoke and a scorched land around me. I speak in metaphors. Perhaps replace land with souls and minds of people who knew me. Replace cloud of smoke with clouds of confusion and sorrow. Or just let me butcher the language even further and I could suggest more things to describe it. I seek something close to intimacy.

‘all I have to do is believe
In the things that believe in me
My ends justify my means
As my means will be my end’

Leniency, passion, trust, and compassion? So many words that fill my mind when I consider what my options are. I consider so many different things as I started this to get back in touch with someone who I lost touch with. Someone who I haven’t spoken to in 13 days. Someone who possibly sat in some ethereal realm watching the 312,000 souls pass into the afterlife. Sometimes it takes me 3.5 seconds to breath in deeply. Amazing what those moments add up to. If you met an artist who killed people to create beautiful masterpieces would he still be an artist? If you took someone who forced themselves to listen to sob stories and read sad tales to conjure up the emotions they needed to write that sad song would they be any less talented? If a witchdoctor was able to grasp the passions and feelings from souls of the dead and used them in the beating of his drums that made thousands dance would he not be an artist? Using the tools at ones disposal should not make one any less than what you would be if you used lesser tools. Though placing murder as a tool to gain something is a broad step to take. Taking lives should never be an option but what if they were scheduled to die by execution? What about those doomed to die and wanted to get it over with? What line do you cross or how does one find the line? Nothing is ever really what it seems anyways isn’t it about what ends you achieve. In the history books do they not write about the ends that were achieved? Do they go too much in depth to the tools used or are the tools just a footnote to what changes were created?

‘I have to do is believe
In the things that believe in me
My ends justify my means
As my means will be my end’

I have him conjured in my mind now. We are speaking and I know what his point of view is. It takes so much to reconnect and now I am afraid I will lose this connection. Though its all abstract that which I am writing. Its an illusion, delusion, and confusion. I sit and write random drivel that most people would have stopped after the first paragraph. It would have taken them a minute to decide that I was insane. Though the 16.6 people who died in that time could not be contacted for comment.

Though a flash of a dream or perhaps a vision induced by music I see a doctor leaving a nail inside a poor boy who made the mistake of stepping on it. ‘I think I will leave it in there for a few days. It will build character and teach him a lesson.’ Unnecessary cruelty it screams to me. How much character does one need? If there was a counter that went to 999,999 before it rolled over I would imagine mine rolled over either quite a few times or at least once. If some being has a greater plan for everyone why would such a compassionate being choose a life of pain for someone? How can you love your children and punish them when they are ignorant? Am I being punished or is this my reward?

‘I have to do is believe
In the things that believe in me
My ends justify my means
As my means will be my end’

So I sit there pondering completing a story. Finishing something that I had completed but my computer conspired against me. I was going to finish a story for a character but now as I look it over the reflections looking back at me almost scare me. Previously I never really thought about how much in common I had with this character. Now I look and I wonder if I was writing about myself. Changing only a few things and creating metaphors to hide that which I did not want to say right out. Perhaps I shouldn’t bother as now I think I understand him more. I should look no deeper inside than myself. Though when I utter the phrase, ‘Breathing death and dripping torment out of my hands as I walk’ I do not mean it literally. I probably don’t even mean it at all. I could vision myself achieving that statement. Breathing out a slight growl with my brow furrowed. Eyes still blue but now the kind of ice. Five thick ropy lines of blood dripping down my arm each going down to a finger where they converge into a single blob held together by my will while still dribbling onto the carpet. When I was younger I often said I was powered by Hate. Sadly there are too many types of hate. Its like gasoline. You have the cheap, medium, and premium grades. Premium carries a high cost often associated with its name. You still have to seek it out and usually pay for it anyways because the difference is shown while you start to burn.

‘I have to do is believe
In the things that believe in me
My ends justify my means
As my means will be my end’