Reflections on Moving Glass

What makes man understand unconditional love, while realizing that one can embody a demeanor, or outlook, that is inferior, evil, unconscious?

What makes time pass by slowly under the employment of a generation before me that has lost all regard for the value in youth? And pass quickly under the sky alone or with a loved one? Infusing your time with love, or building sand castles out of sand.

Sadly, I don’t know myself. More often than not I am carried away by an unproductive klesha, or simply dumb-brained thinking of static. My empathy know bounds. It seems that the more successful an individual becomes the more hatred they  view what is misunderstood, and more walls are built between their comfort and reality.

I find myself hating the youth – I don’t see myself in them. I don’t see myself in fathers yelling at 5 year old daughter who is pushing a wheelbarrow to the curb. 

I almost cut my hair in a Cadillac arguing with crazy men. Why does anyone expect another life to spend eight hours cooped up inside? What makes people comfortable with wasting life? Our only gift.

I see grown men struggle with actions I accomplished by 15. I see them work slow, stupid, and self assured. Pretending this is the life they planned to live.

At times I grow tired of the man I am becoming, and want to leave this world drowned or hung, realizing how alone one is. Sleep stains the grass. The bodies are not breathing.

I don love my fellow American. Without much thought I wouldn’t treat the majority better than a dog. Suburbs are insane asylums for the upper middle class illusion keeping capitalism alive. White America is a spiritual ghetto. White America set on fire.

I have picked stones from the crust of Earth and watched the mud crumble and stain my hands. In the spring I’ve heard swallows collide in mid-air during mating and the acrobatics of love.

— I have hated my countrymen for who they are.

I have not known my origin. 

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