Post by Joey on May 31, 2019 15:08:27 GMT -5
A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession.-- Albert Camus 1935-1942
We keep the faith or we lose our faith. Which side do you fall on?
When I was young I was told a story, I dont remember who told me the story. But the story goes like this. A young man , a poor young man lived in the forest with his father. Teh forest todays are nothing like the forests of yesteryear. People would wander into those old forests and never come out agin.
As you can tell I have refined my skills in more ways than one.
Trees were trees, old trees, old as trees can be. Huge and grasping with black knots, black as sin. And there far from home the young man found wolves. Wolves hiding in plain clothes. They were kind to the boy, but their eyes were not kind. Not kind at all.
The story goes on, but this is as much as I want to tell. My story is longer than the one I was trying to tell. I will get to the point since its getting to the point where my time is running out. WE need to have an idea of who we are. Are we younglings lost in a forest? Are we the forest? Or are we the wolves in the forest? I have always felt like I was the forest. The one who encompasses everything, is all be all. And who knows maybe I was mistaken maybe just maybe I am one of the wolves. And tell me Jackson what are you? Are you young at heart, the wandering youth? Are you a wolf in sheeps clothing? Are you the forest who has no control but just is. And sometimes being is enough, it is for me, but it may not be for you.
Is being alive just enough? It has been for SFT, for a long long time. And it has survived so many things, so many people, so many times, revolutions and revolts, friendships and betrayals. We all have wishes that are sometimes best left ungranted. Once long ago before I was Redd or went by any other name I was called Vassily. I forgot that name. It is no longer mine. But it remains with me like a distant dream. Many people have many stories to tell, we have just forgotten how to tell those stories and even worse we are forgetting how to listen to the stories.
I think I still have a few stories to tell in my own reddish way. But I think...no one is listening anymore, cept maybe one.
Well Jackson that is all I have. I have said my peace. I told my tale. The ball as they say is now on your side of the court.
...Fade….to…..Darkness…..
We keep the faith or we lose our faith. Which side do you fall on?
When I was young I was told a story, I dont remember who told me the story. But the story goes like this. A young man , a poor young man lived in the forest with his father. Teh forest todays are nothing like the forests of yesteryear. People would wander into those old forests and never come out agin.
As you can tell I have refined my skills in more ways than one.
Trees were trees, old trees, old as trees can be. Huge and grasping with black knots, black as sin. And there far from home the young man found wolves. Wolves hiding in plain clothes. They were kind to the boy, but their eyes were not kind. Not kind at all.
The story goes on, but this is as much as I want to tell. My story is longer than the one I was trying to tell. I will get to the point since its getting to the point where my time is running out. WE need to have an idea of who we are. Are we younglings lost in a forest? Are we the forest? Or are we the wolves in the forest? I have always felt like I was the forest. The one who encompasses everything, is all be all. And who knows maybe I was mistaken maybe just maybe I am one of the wolves. And tell me Jackson what are you? Are you young at heart, the wandering youth? Are you a wolf in sheeps clothing? Are you the forest who has no control but just is. And sometimes being is enough, it is for me, but it may not be for you.
Is being alive just enough? It has been for SFT, for a long long time. And it has survived so many things, so many people, so many times, revolutions and revolts, friendships and betrayals. We all have wishes that are sometimes best left ungranted. Once long ago before I was Redd or went by any other name I was called Vassily. I forgot that name. It is no longer mine. But it remains with me like a distant dream. Many people have many stories to tell, we have just forgotten how to tell those stories and even worse we are forgetting how to listen to the stories.
I think I still have a few stories to tell in my own reddish way. But I think...no one is listening anymore, cept maybe one.
Well Jackson that is all I have. I have said my peace. I told my tale. The ball as they say is now on your side of the court.
...Fade….to…..Darkness…..
