thoughts...

i am young, only 14, yet i only know dispair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality over an abyss of sorrow. i see how peoples are set against one another and silently, ruthlessly, obediently slay each other. i see that the smartest build weapons and words to make it more refined and enduring. And throughout the world, people of my generation see these things too. What would our fathers think if we suddenly came before them and proffered our account? What do the think of us? as pawns? our knowledge of life is limited to death, but what will happen after? What will become of us? Because on the borders of death, life remains simple. all else lies in a gloomy sleep, in that decides our primitiveness, and our survival. We were subtly differentiated, and have long since gone mad, we have been deserted, we have fallen... Every expresion of life must serve only the preservation of it. All else is banished because it would consume energy unnecesarily. that's the only way to save ourselves.When it is truly quiet, the puzzling reflection of former days is like a blurred mirror. We often sit against ourselfs and wonder how unnamable active pricipals such as life adapt to a form such as this. Life is just a continuous watch over the menace of death- it transforms us into unthinking animals. It reinforces us with dullness, so we dont fall to pieces overthe horrors that overwhelm us in periods of clear, concious thought. it awakens in us the sense of comeradeship, so we can escape the abyss of sorrow.. it gives us the indifference of wild creatures so in spite of all we can percieve the positive in the face of negetivity, and store it as a reserve for the onslaught of nothingness. Thus we live in a closed existance, and rarely do incidents strike out a spark, so that unsuspectedly a flame of grievious and terrible yearning rises. Those are dangerous moments because they show us that the adjustment is only artificial, it is not simply rest, but the sharpest struggle for rest. In outward forms of life, we are undistinguishable from animals, but animals are always animals, for they are naturally so. Animals are primitave naturally, but us as humans are primitave in an artificial sense. At night, as if waking from a dream, a person percieves how slight the support is, how thin the boundary is that divides him from the darkness. We are small fires, poorly sheltered by frail walls against storms of dissolution and madness, in which we flicker and almost die out. then, the muffled roar of the battle becomes a ring that encircles us. we creep in upon ourselves. and with big eyes we stare into the night. our only comfort is the slow, steady breathing of our comerades asleep, and thus we wait for morning. Let the months and years come, they can take nothing from me, nothing more. I am alone, and so without hope i can confront them without fear. The life that has brought me through the years is still in my hands and eyes. i am a soldier, a warrior. If i've subdued that, huh, i don't know. But as long as it is there it will seek its own way out, regardless of the will inside me.
~Jake