all hat no cattle
fiction
edward w pritchard
Every day since way way back the birds get up at four ten AM and start to chirp and sing. Lately, for the last hundred years or so about that time the rail road workers toot the train horn as they bring everyone the stuff we are supposed to need. You can hear that train a coming from a long way off and it gently stirs you from slumbers of the past. You hear that whistle even if you sleep alone boxed in a house or on the deck flooring outside under ageless stars and galaxies. About then those of us without the totality of will to jump up and start working so we can buy all the stuff the train workers are transporting roll over in our sleep and dream on of prestige and fame, supplied by magical means. Then, someday we can help everyone and no one will have to suffer or die or see the real truth of how things are.
We mean well, but we hurt others, those responsible, realistic. taking to heart what someone told them. Lucky they are who had someone proper to instill them; the only way to go was to study hard, defer- learn to live on 3/4 of your income, put 1/4 into savings and build up one or more years income into a savings account, then if something bad happens you can take care of yourself for a while without being part of the problem. Then all is well, no one will suffer and if they do they deserved it. Life is cruel but interest on principle will soften life's sting to those left behind. Compete, endeavor, prosper.
The plain facts are brutal it seems: when we are born we start to die, everyone will eventually suffer, we are just a material substance destined to decompose. Pain accompanies the decomposition. Some seem blessed temporarily but that's an illusion caused by a misunderstanding of time.
Think for yourself. Be realistic, but, be kind first some others say. If you use up the supplies too soon in the process, don't think about that. The end is inevitable
Try, don't be pathetic, it's over soon.
Leave a monument or not. Don't reminisce. Help the planet or not, no matter. Idealism or materialism; God or the exercise bike, the ends the same.
Sin is perpetuating the process.
Why continue. The senses entice. The mind directs curiosity. The soul craves continuation.
Sunday morning:
lord direct my gaze,
lord guide my steps
lord move my hand
------------------
come down to earth
do something
start marching-duty will call
chill amigo
it's sad for me too sometimes
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