Now, if you cannot prove to me that science solely exists on its own,
please let me believe my God in peace.
For all your knowledge, inventions, discoveries might as well be duplications of what God already created in the beginning.
Tell me something new— something beyond the CHATGPT that thinks like a man, replies like a man, and relies solely on the knowledge of man, a creation of God.
So let me have my God, while you perfect your machines.
But do we stop, halt and realize that we are indeed still breathing?
Because no matter the emotions
or
notions of what we intend to do or become,
the mere fact that we are breathing is a salient one.
Once, I was a fisherboy— happy with everything that happened.
It’s all behind me now. Everything that happens intimidates me.
Someday, I’ll reach the great lakes, become a fisherboy again, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn to enjoy what time offers me.
Fisherboy
I have given up on everything except the believe, in thyself as if am anything special
The life and the dream in Chicago.
Maybe all that we want is already taken— no matter how much we cry, yearn, lament, we never seem to get what we seek.
Some say hope is a good thing, others all heartedly warn us against it. Country men , isn’t that life? that what frees some enslaves others and completely dismantles them out of existence.
art by @kmcvisuals
Read the lines and if you love all the words making up the sentences, know you have no escape. Read the lines, yourself. Avoid interpreters, historians too will do you no good for they are clung to the past and love has always survived in the present.
After all, writing isn’t the whole damn world. Fuck this writer’s block.
I’ll walk around, watch Béla Tarr or Andrei. I’ll call Joyce she never runs out of words.
Or I’ll sleep it off, because I refuse to let a blank page make me consider the unthinkable.