09-07-2015, 03:24 PM
September 06, 2015
There is something curiously singular about the ocean in the way light reflects off it: shiny, new gifts to be cherished every time, always there and never gets old. I had left something there in this remote cove that is a treasure house, walking together with a giant whale (swimming alongside) above ground and observed the expansive life below sea level—how small we are in this Creation: Earth as a speck of sand among others, beautiful beyond words, busy within each tiny grain is amazing to say the least
Fragment of a dream possibly prompted by the artwork I’m currently working on
—
And we were back in the old neighborhood filled with kids running about, and my mother was there on the sidewalk just in front of the house. I was on the other side of the sidewalk; she noticed me and greeted me. Although she didn’t noticed the cheetah that was behind, eyeing her, predator to prey, ready. It leapt, arching similar to a free throw and abruptly intercepted, smacked out of the way by my nephew, leaving her free passage and escaped safely, exiting the scene. I know my time was short for some reason. I could not stay long, had to leave soon—had to come up with a solution quick before it goes after one of the neighborhood kids and before my time runs out. Three of us approached with my .44. It was lying there, calm as if not knowing what it had done, what had transpired
Shots fired, almost emptying the 8 round clip and he or she bloodied, in pain. I attempted to end the pain, snatched the gun out from his hand and pointed at the head, convulsing. Both quivering paws tried to cover its head in protection as if “please don’t hurt me,”—even in such conditions the will to live on. Paws that are no longer wild predatory tan, but innocently domestic grey, and realized one step too late our social ways; paws that couldn’t keep from trembling and neither could I. I couldn’t steady the gun, shaking uncontrollably, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and so the other (none other than the self in dreams) should pull the trigger
The emotion was overwhelmingly unbearable, indescribable moments after recounting the incident for it was just stationary there at ease while I was nearby as if he or she had placed trust in me. In which case I could have stayed and sat there with it, weapon ready as a precaution for the duration, awaiting a better solution, but it did not come to a mind that was in a hurry—in the spur of the moment the willingness of a preconditioned social acceptability to end the life of another unlike our own without consequence, for whatever justification
We are never justified. I couldn’t apologize to the pleading kitten enough
A plea for help for a late case, library books, tan and grey, stacked on volumes of sorrowful tales from our younger brethren that are long overdue—things we can do in the living for the mistakes we make in our dreams
-Regulus
There is something curiously singular about the ocean in the way light reflects off it: shiny, new gifts to be cherished every time, always there and never gets old. I had left something there in this remote cove that is a treasure house, walking together with a giant whale (swimming alongside) above ground and observed the expansive life below sea level—how small we are in this Creation: Earth as a speck of sand among others, beautiful beyond words, busy within each tiny grain is amazing to say the least
Fragment of a dream possibly prompted by the artwork I’m currently working on
—
And we were back in the old neighborhood filled with kids running about, and my mother was there on the sidewalk just in front of the house. I was on the other side of the sidewalk; she noticed me and greeted me. Although she didn’t noticed the cheetah that was behind, eyeing her, predator to prey, ready. It leapt, arching similar to a free throw and abruptly intercepted, smacked out of the way by my nephew, leaving her free passage and escaped safely, exiting the scene. I know my time was short for some reason. I could not stay long, had to leave soon—had to come up with a solution quick before it goes after one of the neighborhood kids and before my time runs out. Three of us approached with my .44. It was lying there, calm as if not knowing what it had done, what had transpired
Shots fired, almost emptying the 8 round clip and he or she bloodied, in pain. I attempted to end the pain, snatched the gun out from his hand and pointed at the head, convulsing. Both quivering paws tried to cover its head in protection as if “please don’t hurt me,”—even in such conditions the will to live on. Paws that are no longer wild predatory tan, but innocently domestic grey, and realized one step too late our social ways; paws that couldn’t keep from trembling and neither could I. I couldn’t steady the gun, shaking uncontrollably, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and so the other (none other than the self in dreams) should pull the trigger
The emotion was overwhelmingly unbearable, indescribable moments after recounting the incident for it was just stationary there at ease while I was nearby as if he or she had placed trust in me. In which case I could have stayed and sat there with it, weapon ready as a precaution for the duration, awaiting a better solution, but it did not come to a mind that was in a hurry—in the spur of the moment the willingness of a preconditioned social acceptability to end the life of another unlike our own without consequence, for whatever justification
We are never justified. I couldn’t apologize to the pleading kitten enough
A plea for help for a late case, library books, tan and grey, stacked on volumes of sorrowful tales from our younger brethren that are long overdue—things we can do in the living for the mistakes we make in our dreams
-Regulus