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The Answer"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
Why do we always keep on repeating them, those same old mistakes? Lose sight of the righteous path, listen to the fear in our hearts, kill our own kind? Why do we fall in line and not for eachother? Why for millenia, do we go on to build, to direct, errect, elect and resurrect only to soil, destroy, desecrate and decimate? We are crazy; the madness of our darkness is the creator of our sadness: insanity.
Until the sun's nova immolates the earth we are doomed to be born and reborn, to die a million times and yet live in a world that has no heart, but that of those who inhabit it: ours. Fragile is our heart, yet we destruct, seduct and corrupt it, with lies and greed we the feed the disease that depletes our soul's light. In the long race of our short lives we aim to gain everything but lose ourselves.
We keep on festering the minds of our children with the same lies and deceptio
Frostherz - Pt.1Ich sehe dich und
du siehst mich.
Wir sind ähnlich, aber
wir ähneln uns nicht.
Du erkennst mich, aber
ich kenne dich nicht.
Am gleichen Ort, zur gleichen Zeit
zieht es an uns vorbei.
Unsere Stimmen tragen keine Worte,
haben uns nichts zu sagen,
kein Gruß und keine Phrasen;
sind uns so fremd geworden,
wie wir das schon immer waren.
Und so lassen wir unsere Kälte
langsam unsere Atem gefrieren.
Und manchmal fühle ich es,
doch meistens fühle ich nichts.
Manchmal fallen meine Tränen,
doch meistens falle nur ich.
Denn Weinen tue ich nur um dich.
Du siehst mich und
ich sehe dich.
Wir ähneln uns, aber
ähnlich sind wir nicht.
Ich kenne dich, aber
du erkennst mich nicht.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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