My Material Wealth

Looking at the ever-aging face staring back in the mirror one must realize the impertinence of time. It brings to light the idea that "Beauty is it's own currency". Well if that's to believed as true, then as each second ticks into oblivion we are gradually depreciating. Wealth is in the eye of the beholder, thus it should be understood that we give value to objects, and as well ultimately give value to ourselves. If your only worthy dealings are dependent upon time, then you're essentially an expiration date; used goods only getting older, uglier, cheaper with every day that passes, and thus your moral grounds will be equally faulting. What is your material wealth?

See the ghost of creases making their way upon your visage, the scars of existence making it all the more weathered, and yet you must remain content with the shell of you wearing away, so long as the most vital parts can remain uncorrupted. Hair follicles thinning to fine sheaths; morning blindness a reminder of failing optic orbs; countless muscle aches protesting the lodestone of being. It will only grow exponentially from here, and it is better that we come to terms with the fact that we are a deteriorating outer shell whose core is the true beauty of our species. The compassion, creativity, perseverance, humor, and capacity for love are all what can never wither.

Material wealth can and always will be bankruptcy. For the hawkers out there that preach riches and fame, may we never hear the seductive siren music of rampant luxury. The powerful aroma of excess and ennui seducing us all into imbuing the least worthy parts of this world with the most importance--it ends when you realize your own self-worth. It ends when you stop letting objects define you, and begin showing the world that only you define you. Tear apart the notion of living for others. Take up the mantle of carving yourself out of the rough, and regardless of the minor imperfections, the final product is you, and you entirely.

Loneliness

The game of hearts and minds burns frothy to match the temperature of our blood. A volatile assortment of creatures at best, we excel at complicating our lives amongst each other. Somewhere along the way, in the catacombs of time and human development, a need has a risen fanatical within us all to deny solitude. While it is natural to desire companionship, are we incapable of existing alone?

A sick parasitic bond has festered within all our minds--a notion that happiness is merely tolerating misery, and any moment free of it is a true gift to be cherished. It lies out there to be contested amongst the millions of couplings that litter this planet, yet why does it seem that living life for one's self seems to have dissolved into the ether. Think about the dreams and potential mountains you could scale, the endless possibility writhing in your veins, yet we discount ourselves in the favor of comfort and shared misery. Speak of it like this; how is it that anything meaningful can thrive if the soil is not tilled. If the foundation of ourselves is fit to crumble, then what growth can there be, what semblance of beauty do we truly offer?

Fruition of the self is a constant maelstrom within every soul that strives to be the zenith of it's potential. If only we strove so fiercely to reach the peaks of our greatness, then in that moment of epiphany and earth-shattering self-empowerment, would we realize we are fit to be the very best we can be to another that deserves it. Tolerating anything less is a disservice, one we've fit snugly into like the frayed blankets of our infancy. The root of this contagion lies in the bubbling evil of fear that lies dormant in the deepest recesses of ourselves. It is fear we must combat, for it shall rule us all if we so allow.

Fear. Fear of solitude, and even more so, the truly contemptible notion of loneliness. Let clarity exult this from the crux of our beings; in solitude we find the true mettle within us all, the power to exist through anything, a fortitude to question and demand the very greatest of our dynamically short stay on this world, and most importantly, the fiber of character that imbues us with the capability to understand what is truly important without one mote to distract us. In empowering the fallacy of loneliness we retard our capabilities as humans, as empowered beings that need only our determination and will to exist. Don't let it ever be said that in solitude we are dying, because that will be the reasoning that seals you in the prison of dependency, and there exists no harder prison to escape.

Gather steadfast the courage stockpiled in the viscera of your being, grasp it with assurance, and set out upon the deluge of lives that swarm you with each rising sun. Embrace it all, the eye of the storm, moving through it all in confidence that you shall never waver. Throw out the fear of the unknown. Eradicate the fear of loneliness. Free yourself from the manacles of thought that will enslave and ensure the misery of myopia. Let the rush of life thrum through you in acceptance of yourself, of the greatness that is within you, and in doing all this; you shall be truly free.

Medicate

So it seems in the melodious debauchery of existence that human beings are ill-equipped to handle the concept of being. As years fall to sunset simmers of oblivion, calenders litter the trash bins with crumpled days and weeks, life(our lives), mutates sickeningly into an affliction. Headlong we rush towards our graves, digging with unrestrained ferocity through the miasma of depression, failure, shortcomings, and hope's terminal illness, to arrive at the dawn holding our own executioner's blade. Our solution, the gateway to salvation; the pristine hope of self-reclamation lies in coping via half-lives. Medicate.

Doping up to dim down the pain of suffering, the burden of being flesh and blood--it is an acquiescence to weakness. Countless healthy hearts pump regardless of the civil war raging within our bodies; brain's subterfuge to end it all, hands the guilty assassins, and traitorous eyes the uncaring spectators. It's all mental nausea. A diarrhea of emotion runs errant amongst souls and minds unable to realize the beauty of pain--of life. So give it all up, wave the white flag of defeat and medicate for you, for me, for the eternal beauty you refuse to see because life has the ability to be atrociously burdensome, in return for awarding you for existing in the crisis- running the gamut of life.

As each day brings with it the pain of knowledge and scars of experience, we are faced with the one true burden of humanity; logic. Through logic and reason we've evolved into a species unto ourselves, capable of boundless wonders and treacherous evils, yet a greatness none the less. Unlike the rest of Gaea's children, we've found the key to rewire the self preservation mechanism built within us all, and in turn embrace it with the ardency of a lover's embrace. Latching on to every excuse to rid ourselves with the task of breathing we've delved into new ways of death dealing, and thus have become exceedingly efficient at crafting our own extinction. A medley of glorious means await those that choose to leave behind it all, and in that final breath of air sweeter than paper millions can ever fauxly compare, perhaps you will realize that the cold dirt of mother earth puts a close on your forever, and your fading hologram will pass from earth as a unknown known; a contradiction of existence.

Leaving these lines with all that care, the true believers and livers of life. Rise up from the muck bayous of our minds, the crafty trickster that turns all life's problems into Atlas burdens. Realize that within us all is the capability to live as we are, for ourselves and none other, to be the epitome of our hopes and dreams, and in turn succeed in a way of life we could only ever want to exist in. Sing the song of your sorrows, embrace the gory mishaps the sunrise brings, but most importantly, realize the miracle of your existence and never for one heartbeat take it for anything less than truest beauty this world will ever see.