For Want Of A Better World

It was merely a chance occurrence by which we happened to be in that place, at a time of the evening where people who would have a claim to life would be more interested in remembering why they should bother to wake up again next morning. The night was one of the more squalid things about the place, where one of the many degenerates who frequented it could get a fix by sniffing the mushrooms that had started growing in the cracks on the wall, if only they bothered. It's not a surprising coincidence that the drunken lout is not the sharpest tool in the shed. The place was lit by a single light three feet to the left of where it should have been, throwing dull, yellow haze on a chalkboard that held the menu up for inspection, though I doubt many there could read. There was rum, a bit cheaper than you could find anywhere else, even at the liquor store where the old man would give you whatever you wanted from behind his wire mesh cage, as long as it was whisky. There was also '...

Spent, tired across waters unknown, Driven from your old, warm nests, Biting winds, bone-clinging, unyielding snow, This is not your home. Who sent you here, where we live and die? With your head held high you stay in my lands, What do you come as? A raider from the desert, slave to the sand, Where mountains you made dust with the wind in your wings? Ran away from the sun, like A refugee running from war,  With your lands burnt, scorched by someone you knew, Who meant you no harm What did you hope to find so far away, In this stark stretch of cold that never ends? You may want to live, but we preserve This is not that village in the hills, With a green lake in a sea of white banks Where you perch in the temple when the sun goes down, Worshipped like a faceless god by a man of many shapes and a broken heart he hides from you Here, it's cold.

There are days when a melody flies up out of nowhere and nestles itself safely somewhere in the confines of your ears. Once there, the tenacious little munchkin refuses to settle down, and pretty much dictates the mood and tempo of the rest of your day. There’s no earthly reason for gloom, drear and dullness, when the beat keeps the day alive. Soon enough, a lonely hand seeks the company of another, and two otherwise square feet search for a partner at 100 beats per minute. The search, like a rocky hillock in the middle of a desert, does not bear fruit. But a solitary dancer is the talk of the town, and who needs a partner when stifled giggles and suddenly hushed conversations are there to egg you on? In some time, other tasks pale in comparison to the zeal and perseverance needed for that sound to stay where it was. Work gets done, ugliness erased and insecurities awash when no one cares enough to give them a second thought. As long as that beat goes on, it’s all going to be okay...

It could be the first sign of the morning, It could be the brightest ray at noon, Could even be the blackest spot of night, But whenever it may start, There's no telling when the storm will end. It may be a gale, cold and swift, It may be the sun; quiet, complete, It may be the clouds, humbled and effete, Nature may cull it as it may, There's no telling when the storm will end. Stay inside where it's safe and warm, Carry an umbrella, if you must go, Tread lightly, and be back soon, The night is unforgiving and, There's no telling when the storm will end.

(The Scene: An evening in a regular London pub. The bar isn’t crowded, there are only two couples in the booths. Two men at the bar, friends by the look of it. One drinking a pint of dark beer) Man 1 : So Lucy called. Said she was gonna pack all of her stuff and head back to her mum’s. Her life’s too precious to spend livin’ with a waster, she says. Man 2 : All her stuff? Well that’s okay, then. Give her a couple of days’ head start to get her suitcases sorted before you go apologizing. Man 1 : (Chuckles)  Nah, she’ll come around sooner than that. She’s not a bad bird, that one. Think I may actually settle down with her. Man 2 : Yeah? Man 1 : Yeah, yeah, y’know… it’s not a bad idea, really. I mean, I could always quit this job and find one that pays more. She won’t half mind marrying me, I know that. Yeah… maybe I could just get this bird for keepers. Man 2 : Pays more, eh? And where exactly do you propose to find such gainful employment, old boy? Man...

It was all going perfectly according to plan. The world was at peace, the beings in harmony, one part eating the other, and the other sacrificing itself to sustain the first. Green and brown above, blue and grey below. It worked, it sustained what could have gone on for eons. Why, then, did nature create man? Suddenly, in what was practically a flash in the billions of years of the DNA code, there was this, thing , that was fast, strong, and hungry beyond fulfillment. Hacking, and burning, and digging and scraping apart all that was there until its subjugation of all around it was complete. Until the very mother that caused him to be wept tears of acid and blew away its tattered covers to sear him with the sun’s rays. What was this grand scheme that caused nature to make something that would think up a power greater than itself to dominate and torture that which gave birth to him so completely? And when there was no other to be ravished, turn on each other in a noisy bicker...

The moment you wake up in the morning; that stretch where you cannot open your eyes fully or feel your conspiring arms trying to lift you up, is probably the most lucid instant of the entire day. Those two seconds where no one can begin to contemplate anything other than two inches of sunlight in their eyes make every morning a new day. What decides the course of your day, however, is unfortunately not this moment. No, that moment comes about half an hour later, around the time when you're stepping out of the bathroom and reaching for that coffee mug. When the cogs of your cognition suddenly whirr into action, and contemplate the day that went past, and using some complex method that I can only imagine is akin to the one they use at my office, forecasts your mood for the day. Now, this mood does not make your day good or bad; how can it. What it does is change the little things you do; the skip in your step, the cheeriness of a “Good Morning!” or the look on your face when you thin...