Autumn's of my youth

The nights pass, uneventful but not meaningless. This last one was especially tumultuous yet never confusing. Silence can at once be both suffocating and tranquil. Life however hard changes fast. In a sense, I guess optimism is not an unfounded delusion. At least that’s my excuse for embracing it’s warm comforts.

I wouldn’t call silence a friend, it doesn’t speak, it doesn’t laugh in mirth or scold with spite, it is always there, the tireless observer.  The one thing I have understood about it, is that it is honest and in it’s own way fair.  A new dawn breaks before me, it is time to part ways with my companion. By now he is too feeble to torment me, yet he lingers just strong enough to be tranquil.

I have recently decided to listen to people, even if they don't seem interesting at first. I feel we are so obsessed with finding something exceptional, that we dismiss things too quickly. We are a generation of junkies, so preoccupied with getting the next fix that we let beautiful things pass unnoticed. The best things in life are often not instantaneously legendary. In this spirit I step out on the balcony. Since quitting smoking I have neglected this particular facility of my apartment. It's raining, a soft fine autumn rain trying to go unnoticed by the humans of the world. I feel like the sky is crying silently. I have learnt to accept myself for who I am, life for what it is, I still dream. The world would be so cold without optimism, it's okay to lie to yourself once every now and then. I want to tell the sky to not cry, not to be bothered by the negligence of us humans. But the rain won't ease, it keeps on soft and desolate. The best I can do is watch the grey heavens doused in the cold luster of a feeble October sun, at least she has a witness to her sorrow.

Autumn's of my youth

The nights pass, uneventful but not meaningless. This last one was especially tumultuous yet never confusing. Silence can at once be both suffocating and tranquil. Life however hard changes fast. In a sense, I guess optimism is not an unfounded delusion. At least that’s my excuse for embracing it’s warm comforts.

I wouldn’t call silence a friend, it doesn’t speak, it doesn’t laugh in mirth or scold with spite, it is always there, the tireless observer.  The one thing I have understood about it, is that it is honest and in it’s own way fair.  A new dawn breaks before me, it is time to part ways with my companion. By now he is too feeble to torment me, yet he lingers just strong enough to be tranquil.

I have recently decided to listen to people, even if they don't seem interesting at first. I feel we are so obsessed with finding something exceptional, that we dismiss things too quickly. We are a generation of junkies, so preoccupied with getting the next fix that we let beautiful things pass unnoticed. The best things in life are often not instantaneously legendary. In this spirit I step out on the balcony. Since quitting smoking I have neglected this particular facility of my apartment. It is raining, a soft fine autumn rain, trying to go unnoticed by the humans of the world. I feel like the sky is crying silently. I have learnt to accept myself for who I am, life for what it is, I still dream. The world would be so cold without optimism, it's okay to lie to yourself once every now and then. I want to tell the sky to not cry, not to be bothered by the negligence of us humans. But the rain won't ease, it keeps on soft and desolate. The best I can do is watch the grey heavens doused in the cold luster of a feeble October sun, at least she has a witness to her sorrow.

Autumn's of my youth

The nights pass, uneventful but not meaningless. This last one was especially tumultuous yet never confusing. Silence can at once be both suffocating and tranquil. Life however hard changes fast. In a sense, I guess optimism is not an unfounded delusion. At least that’s my excuse for embracing it’s warm comforts.

I wouldn’t call silence a friend, it doesn’t speak, it doesn’t laugh in mirth or scold with spite, it is always there, the tireless observer.  The one thing I have understood is that it is honest and in it’s own way fair.  A new dawn breaks before me, it is time to part ways with my companion. By now he is too feeble to torment me, yet he lingers just strong enough to be tranquil.

I have recently decided to listen to people, even if they don't seem interesting at first. I feel we are so obsessed with finding something exceptional, that we dismiss things too quickly. We are a generation of junkies, so preoccupied with getting the next fix that we let beautiful things pass unnoticed. The best things in life are often not instantaneously legendary. In this spirit I step out on the balcony. Since quitting smoking I have neglected this particular facility of my apartment. It's raining, a soft fine autumn rain trying to go unnoticed by the humans of the world. I feel like the sky is crying silently. I have learnt to accept myself for who I am, life for what it is, I still dream. The world would be so cold without optimism, it's okay to lie to yourself once every now and then. I want to tell the sky to not cry, not to be bothered by the negligence of us humans. But the rain won't ease, it keeps on soft and desolate. The best I can do is watch the grey heavens doused in the cold luster of a feeble October sun, at least she has a witness to her sorrow.

Autumn's of my youth

The nights pass, uneventful but not meaningless. This last one was especially tumultuous, yet never confusing. Silence can at once be both suffocating and tranquil. Life however hard changes fast. In a sense, I guess optimism is not an unfounded delusion. At least that’s my excuse for embracing it’s warm comforts.

I wouldn’t call silence a friend, it doesn’t speak, it doesn’t laugh in mirth or scold with spite, it is always there, the tireless observer.  The one thing I have understood about it, is that it is honest, and in it’s own way fair.  A new dawn breaks before me, it is time to part ways with my companion. By now he is too feeble to torment me, yet he lingers just strong enough to be tranquil.

I have recently decided to listen to people, even if they don't seem interesting at first. I feel we are so obsessed with finding something exceptional, that we dismiss things too quickly. We are a generation of junkies, so preoccupied with getting the next fix that we let beautiful things pass unnoticed. The best things in life are often not instantaneously legendary. In this spirit I step out on the balcony. Since quitting smoking I have neglected this particular facility of my apartment. It's raining, a soft fine autumn rain trying to go unnoticed by the humans of the world. I feel like the sky is crying silently. I have learnt to accept myself for who I am, life for what it is, I still dream. The world would be so cold without optimism, it's okay to lie to yourself once every now and then. I want to tell the sky to not cry, not to be bothered by the negligence of us humans. But the rain won't ease, it keeps on soft and desolate. The best I can do is watch the grey heavens doused in the cold light of the feeble October sun, at least she has a witness to her sorrow.

Autumn's of my youth

The nights pass, uneventful, but not meaningless. This last one was especially tumultuous, yet it was never confusing. Silence can at once be both suffocating and tranquil. Life however hard,  changes fast. In a sense, I guess optimism is not an unfounded delusion. At least that’s my excuse for embracing it’s warm comforts.

I wouldn’t call silence a friend, it doesn’t speak, it doesn’t laugh in mirth or scold with spite, but it is always there, the tireless observer.  The one thing I have understood about it, is that it is honest, and in it’s own way fair.  A new dawn breaks before me, it is time to part ways with my companion. By now he is too feeble to torment me, yet he lingers just strong enough to be tranquil.

I have recently decided to listen to people, even if they don't seem interesting at first. I feel we are so obsessed with finding something exceptional, that we dismiss things too quickly. We are a generation of junkies, so preoccupied with getting the next fix that we let beautiful things pass un-noticed. The best things in life are often not instantaneously legendary. In this spirit I step out on the balcony. Since quitting smoking I have neglected this particular facility of my apartment. It's raining, a soft fine autumn rain trying to go unnoticed by the humans of the world. I feel like the sky is crying silently. I have learnt to accept myself for who I am, life for what it is, I still dream. The world would be so cold without optimism, it's okay to lie to yourself once every now and then. I want to tell the sky to not cry, not to be bothered by the negligence of us humans. But the rain won't ease, it keeps on soft and desolate. The best I can do is watch the grey heavens doused in the cold light of the feeble October sun, at least she has a witness to her sorrow.

Autumn's of my youth

The nights pass, uneventful, but not meaningless. This last one was especially tumultuous, yet it was never confusing. Silence can at once be both suffocating and tranquil. Life however hard, changes fast. In a sense I guess optimism is not an unfounded delusion. At least that’s my excuse for embracing it’s warm comforts.

I wouldn’t call silence a friend, it doesn’t speak, it doesn’t laugh in mirth or scold with spite, but it is always there, the tireless observer. The one thing I have understood about it is that it is honest, and in it’s own way fair.  A new dawn breaks before me, it is time to part ways with my companion. By now he is too feeble to torment me, yet he lingers just strong enough to be tranquil.

I have recently decided to listen to people, even if they don't seem interesting at first. I feel we are so obsessed with finding something exceptional, that we dismiss things too quickly. We are a generation of junkies, so preoccupied with getting the next fix that we let beautiful things pass unnoticed. The best things in life are often not instantaneously legendary. In this spirit I step out on the balcony. Since quitting smoking I have neglected this particular facility of my apartment. It's raining, a soft fine autumn rain trying to go unnoticed by the humans of the world. I feel like the sky is crying silently. I have learnt to accept myself for who I am, life for what it is, I still dream. The world would be so cold without optimism, it's okay to lie to yourself once every now and then. I want to tell the sky to not cry, not to be bothered by the negligence of us humans. But the rain won't ease, it keeps on soft and desolate. The best I can do is watch the grey heavens doused in the cold luster of a feeble October sun, at least she has a witness to her sorrow.

Gibberish as usual

The day after sanctions on Cuba were lifted the Communist government decided the time was ripe to do something deep and profound. After much consideration it was decided a polar bear zoo would be built in the middle of Havana, as a remonstration against the untenable destruction of natural ecosystems due to capitalist greed. Now communists do not like to look foolish, so a beautifully written 400 page manifesto was published, outlying how the whole thing was not only possible, but both eco-sustainable and financially viable. So work began with fervor, the likes of which the old city had never seen. Finally the whole project was completed, 10 polar bears were brought in to live in the new edifice. A grand opening ceremony was held with much pomp and grandeur. But the celebrations were short lived. Within a week, nine bears died of heat stroke. The government was not happy, a few of the scientists responsible for the initial manifesto were executed, publicly global warming due to the west was blamed for the cub's deaths. Miraculously the tenth cub persisted to breathe, the whole country rejoiced. It was named Lenin.  It was decided that on May day, to commemorate the fall of fascism, Lenin in true Marxist spirit would be brought forth admist the people. Alas, walking through the streets of Havana in May proved too strenuous for Lenin. He died that night in the cage. The government was dismayed, but there was little time to despair, rumors of Lenin's demise were being propagated by Western media outlets. Hugo, as bearish a man as could be found on the streets of Havana at 4am, was put into a polar bear suit and forced into the bear cage. The next morning expertly shot propaganda videos of him were released along with the sensational news about a foiled American assassination attempt on Lenin's life. Naturally, in order to protect comrade Lenin's life, no outsider could be allowed near the encloser for some time.  A thousand miles away Washington DC was abuzz with news of the Cuban bear. The president decided , that America could not be shown up like this by the communists. A 500 acre polar bear sanctuary in the middle of Washington was proposed. Over the next few months plans were wrought, and rewrought, millions of dollars worth in contracts  were sold, the I 66 and I 95 were rerouted, old men in musty suits debated how many bears of what gender should be brought, the entire borough of Fairfax had to be relocated. Finally the day came when the sanctuary was complete, it was fitted with a drive through Mcdonald's and a church, so as the bears would grow to be  American in temperament.  The president stood proudly in front of the  reservation holding a cuddly polar bear cub, and  declared that at last america could feel great again.