Life is silly. Perhaps I should become silly in order to accommodate. Maybe when I come to collect your soul, I'll wear a tie-dye shirt to lighten the mood.
Words.
Words.
Words.
What makes humans think they are so special? Their actions constantly send me out to pick up their scattered pieces. Destruction may be due to bombs and guns, but what's the reason for devastation?
Words.
Everyone wants to feel uplifted, be moved by someone else's words, moved into action.
The years have passed since Nazi Germany. The Book Thief aged and lived her life to the end. I was left the same, continuing through my way of living. Wading through souls, holding onto the Book Thief's words, visions passing me by, it's all the same.
I am tired.
They all stick out to me, the endless souls that clump together, waiting and waiting. Waiting for salvation. I take them away, but it's not toward salvation. The rest of humanity carries on, too busy to mourn. There's always a crowd who needs manipulation, who needs hate in their heart. Who's going to give them the hate, (or dare I hope, love)? Not everyone can be führers.
I'm present through it all, when the sky is purple and hazy and guns are trained on men who are still children. Through assassinations and executions, when the sun is mockingly bright. I was there on yet another fateful day, Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Rubble, dust, fire, bodies intermingled with one another. Just another day, just another job. The human race boasts of advancement, but I think they learn nothing over the passing years. I was there, and I'm still tired.
Twelve years later the President speaks to a surging crowd. His supporters are moved to tears. The opposition calls him a communist, and likens him to a terrorist.
"Our country is doomed. I have lost all faith!"
What if the other candidate had won, what would the people be saying?
"Our country is doomed. I have lost all faith!"
Everyone has words now, but whether they should be allowed to speak is another matter. They think they have power, they spew words for everyone to hear, but who really hears? And yet, it's almost silly how easily people are frightened and swayed by outlandish lies. God bless the news. God bless the internet.
Debasement is the sincerest form of flattery.
I pick up a soul, and I can almost hear it protest, saying that it has something else to say before it goes. Sorry. Sorry you don't have any extra time to write a tirade on someone else's tumblr. Don't worry though, you were never going to make a difference anyway.
What is power, words or ammunition? What is power? Death. I'll always be around, trudging through different places, seeing people who are all the same. I still look up at the sky, it seems to breathe with me. Heavy and blue, I'm waiting for the day that it bursts, sending a shower of snow in the middle of summer over us all. Perhaps then I'll be able to rest. Perhaps then I'll be able to understand.
Religion, hate, fear, hope, respect, love, life, death, what's the difference? It makes my brain hurt. I do have a brain. I have a brain, and a heart, and perhaps somewhere locked away I even have a soul. How else could the human race move me so?
Too few. Too few beautiful stories left. There are some, there will always be beauty left, even if it is hanging on by a thread, a dying breed.
I'm afraid I've grown cynical in my old age.
But God bless war, after all it is my best friend.
