Can you hear them?

How could one understand my words? Make sense of the ramblings which flood my head and spill onto these pages in chaos. They are everywhere, connections, fragments, meaningless words which form songs which sing in tunes and harmonies that I choose to ignore. Until the sounds become to loud.


Here they are flowing as a river. Not raging, nor tranquil. They are littered.

Here they sing as a breeze. Not gentle, nor harsh. They simply drift, and still they make no matter, no matter how I choose to ignore, or create, they are and always will be here. A blessing, which I shun, and with that is my punishment.



I know.

How can one understand my words? I guess they make sense to me.

Can you hear them?

The stage is set

The scene is set. All are in position. Time draws near. The empty stage is infused with the energies of the participants. How in the history of the world can one have all these players in waiting for their debut? How in the world indeed…

If you could be in the presence of anyone, whom would you choose? What if it could be bigger than you imagined? How about instead of talking about life with someone… you could talk to Life, understand it, question it…

Death, same as above.

Speak to your mind and infuse it with interpretation.


Talk to Chaos, Emotion, Time… here is your chance. They are waiting in anticipation of your audience

Enter Life. Time. Death. Enter Chaos. Emotion. Purpose, meaning and Destiny

Can you truly find meaning in the meaningless?

Once there was a child, born in a world of chaos. Once there was a girl living in a world of hope. Once there was a life lived alone and shared with the infinity of possibility.

Once there was a time of passion and wonder, this time has since passed leaving the lonely to tend to the fields of unharvested dreams.  In solitude and silence they work., gently plowing and sowing fruitless hopes. The work tiredlessly. They work with little to no knowledge of their intentions. The know not what they do.

Weaving it all together. Leaving no room for poeticism. Why must there always be a story? Why can’t it be like life.


Chaos with Purpose.

And Life

They narrate their intention, infused with knowledge. All apologies knowledge could not be present tonight, though his role is interpreted in the dialogue

There is always a design beneath the surface. Perhaps an unseen pattern leaving light. Wielding emotion as a sword  would upon its final victory.




The stage is set… all in position for a marvelous show… how will you participate?