Sunday, December 30, 2012

7.4 - the ouroboros





They are the we of me..

4.the ouroboros

he threw the cigarette butt out of the door looking onto the road. Dogs and hungry puppies ran to it in hope of finding something edible. they seemed hungry and deprived. It was a cold and foggy winter night. his thoughts hovered around someone who needed him but would not voice the pain for reasons he didn’t crave for. he honoured her request for silence. on a rational note of his own, he thought of killing all the people who depended rather doped on him for their own reasons of denial to fight back more than their weakness. they fed off him. he wanted to rid them of their guilt of not living it up. he wanted to relieve them from their own lives’ expectations, but somehow it didn’t appeal as a feasible concoction for he couldn’t be responsible for their actions. he had learned to quickly associate and dissociate from people. he was their support. he made sure they weren’t his. his payback was their dependency. His payback was making their lives more liveable for them, but with time they became leeches. everyone had their own axe to grind and dependability wasn’t a very dependable trait in itself even if in anticipation of reciprocity.

reciprocity was a bitch.

he couldn’t kill himself yet. he had so much to do in life and he had just started his way down the road of what he thought he never wanted but now required more than anything. he had sold his passion and dreams and traded his soul for the hollow. he couldn’t die yet. he had to take back. that was what alchemy’s law of equivalent exchange was about; he had lived a quarter of his life believing in it and he was not going to discard that now. it was his sermon. he shut the door behind and left the hungry dogs figure out a way themselves. he was turning his back to the world. he refused to listen or repair anymore. it was a cold and foggy night of december and everyone was left to themselves.

he got back to his notes and went through them again and scribbled something on a page with a pressure that engraved the letters on several layers of pages below. he was in search of something more important than silly things and events he indulged in a while ago. it was the beginning and end of all. it was the anti to all natural flow of events- events that were in control of something bigger, events that were random, and events that ran in perfect or imperfect relativity, congruence and correlation to a parallel existence or universe. it was a cold and foggy night of december just like the one ten years ago when he had abandoned everything he had.

it was the search for the philosopher’s stone..


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