Finally I decided to stop sowing oats across the shrubs and thorns and hoard it instead. "I will fill my barns, I boasted, and stock for my generations to come". Then I was beset with this terrible uneasiness that started from beneath my tummy traveling to my head. I promised me that I will live within my fortress mighty and the moat around so despicable that its filth will keep strangers at bay.
Surely my days of the old and deeds of my past caught up with me when I was given a book to read. This has sent me on a tailspin once again. I had come to this conclusion that the whole belief system was a muddled scoop of noodles, but then this book far from untangling it provided me with the cutlery to consume this confusion.
Even as I partake of it, there is a severe sense of uneasiness. Am I heading for a bout of food poisoning?
This takes me through ideas that had been so badly battered within me and cast aside for want of words - like bones that are dried in the vale of death. With precision it wraps these dried bones with flesh and gives breath of life. Now this army of ideas are mobilising itself to plan a frontal attack on my determined sloth and isolation. The strength at its possession sure has a easy opponent to overcome.
As I throw this book and scream "F--- I wish I knew there was hope."
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