The Unspoken Truth of Being Young

The Unspoken Truth of Being Young

If you could read something that told you about the ride that is the teen years, would you? What about the existential crisis that is the 20s? Beyond that there is nothing more than mundane truth.

‘The joys of being a father.’

‘You’re a father?’

‘No, but I observed a father.’

Unspoken challenges of the old gentry, abusive of the creators power. Existence and living are not to be more than observation. If we ever found the truth of being young, it would be after our retirement, or in the words of the young, our expiration date. It feels like a sell by date was always the way to go, to keep people fresh in packets like the dry broccoli leaves that you peeled away from the stem.

‘I’ll never make the final run, I’m too old.’ Say it again and say it with justice in your heart.

‘To not make the final run, is to be the final run.’ Or so it seemed, like the plastic that had faded on small car toys tossed into large dirty crators in the ground, or the sesame pool of the lagoons filled with bottles and disposable knives and forks. If you had enough of them, could you faction of look of contempt?

‘Say you did not want to know the truth?’

‘You are the one to ask the question, and that means something.’

If the truth of the young is to be free and to be liberal in speech and mind than to be happy and content with the present and to be together, or to ride the long seas of rapid change through hurricanes and birdstrikes, shall we suddenly wither to the floor and then roll around in petty arrogance?

‘Two many, or thrice the lady came to suns glorious rays.’

‘Passion does not exist beyond desire.’

Say they, the ones with the gorgeously glamorated fiction spectacle. An organic being with robotic features. The mouth that moves in time to the sound of the radio, or the hand that types in time with the clicking of the clock. It will not stop until they become engrained like rice in the supermarkets on the shelves, unable to move without being chosen.

A selective breed of a particularly selfish generation who choose self-imposed rights and choices over the emotions and feelings of others. Traded the empathy and compassion for immediate relief and instant fulfilment. Long gone it seems it the genuine traits of the heart to seek to be together, to enjoy the company of a family, like the talking siblings who might be of different gender, of the same group. A gathering with sacred and immortal bindings to reality, a connection shared which has been replaced by material items, greed, lust, gluttony and the most irremovable of all, the undying loneliness of the world. Do people not want to gather together for meaningful and happy events without alcohol or other substances? Or do they stick it out because they have to appear good or compliant or risk looking like they don’t care. Surely the man who stays alone for the night than spend the night with bickering individuals is more in line with the values of self respect and honesty than one who parades the mask all evening at his souls expense? What of the woman who cannot face her husband for fear of lack of love, or the mother who will not comfort her children for fear of lack of reciprocation?

‘Do you want to live a free life or to be enslaved to the idea of truth?’

‘Truth does not mean lying to oneself, or to others.’

Certainly a lie can spread far and wide and deceive en-mass. And the outcome should not be compliance like uneducated humans in a field grazing on grass and corn. Education is the pillar of a developed society, yet it is a system that has become only one focused on a limited number of possibilities.

‘What are those limited possibilities?’

‘Well, they are simply these.’

  1. That education is a tool to allow the economy to function without children to get in the way of working parents;
  2. that the poor standard of education is deliberate so as to not provoke any possibility of independent thinking of free thought;
  3. if they don’t tell us anything that is true, we will grow up to become just like them, ignorant and self-imposed;
  4. it is better to allow people to think they are smart, than to actually teach them anything worthwhile.

So the list could be extended, but the topic of education is divisive. It is ancient, since the times of the Egyptians, education has helped people to become better at understanding the world around them, from medicine to mathematics to astronomy, art, science and beyond. Philosophical topics arousing from the law for example, built off of principles of morality, good, and the concept of God and the natural law as a state that humans too should be aware and educated on. A mere distraction or a deeper, more worthwhile and actionable protest than studying the hidden mysterious of the Aztecs.

It is here, in this world of consumerism and selfish desire, and students and young people laced with the poison of intelligence that dwindle the fire of compassionate yearning. In a time of darkness, or enlightenment, a man formed to flesh and blood, came to sacrifice himself.

‘He did not have selfish desire, rather, unconditional love.’

A love that was boundless and capable of transcending time. Millions of people have learned of the son of God, yet very few understand the message of his sacrifice. Our we bound to be stuck on our own crosses, or can we too gather the love within our hearts to dismiss perceptions of age, colour and gender, and come together to forget what we think we know and join together as one?

Does the effort to assist a lady to cross the road, require more effort than a degree in a university? What about the young man, newly employed who seeks to arrive early everyday in the hope he will impress his boss? So that he can go out at the weekend, but is too busy to talk to a friend to sort something out for ten minutes? Acts that only serve the ego and the self, do not develop the self or the soul, and instead accumulate to a machine, programmed to work and to sleep and to consume.

‘Consuming and working sound fine, just pay me.’

‘Money is not a resolution for young or old.’

It is not the answer to even a million problems and neither is mindless talk and propaganda of helping others. It is not buildings stocked with refugee donations, unmoved and untouched. It is not a charity donation box on the checkout counter that stands full for a day before being put in the till. It is not the man who stand in line for a sandwich, just so he can avoid going to the canteen at work.

Or the family who’s parents are not happy to see their children wearing cheap clothes or buying normal or cheap food, for they need expensive, organic and gourmet products and anything less is poor.

The disillusioned are trapped in hell, money cannot possibly equate to wealth or to love. It can be the devil, and have a mere fleeting and familiar and even similar effect, but is quite different. It is the young generation who feel the need for money the most, yet they do everything in their conscious capacity to avoid the truth, which is not to seek money. Being happy doesn’t mean a better food quality, or bigger living accomodation, or more material belongings, or more clothes or better hair or a fitter body, it is something that lives in all of you, right now. The problem is people are so caught up looking elsewhere, that they forget to stop, and to look around, and to smell the flowers and look at the sun and the clouds.

They forget to feel the rain on their faces and begin to live in a sort of disconnected reality. A reality where they cannot be happy, because the truth is they haven’t even started to look for it, they have been distracting themselves this whole time. If they took a moment to observe the birds and to feel the soft grass beneath their fingers, they might suddenly wake up and understand just what happiness is.


Slipping Through My Hands

Honing into a fletched clumbered path 

shown a mysterious moment in time

how confused was I

at the things waiting for me

being mine, confused again at this underlying, event

a sprocket loaded full of repent in your phone

do you feel like talking to my face

turning away as loss becomes frequent

slipped through my hands...

can be extremely painful

losing someone

even more so

when that somebody

just so happened, to be you.

No denial in the hands of the wolf

or your desire to lay with a hay stack

let me hold you one more time

once more dance to our shared lives

a life that is ready to accept

slipped through the cracks

had to turn back

found you lying still

loss of light from eyes

burning passion wipes away secret tears

where do you go?

bowed at the knight

Gabriel, "bless her with delight"

no more, slipped into the blight.


https://www.wattpad.com/story/307873965-discovery-avenue

Consider reading this poem, powerful words.

Illinois Gal

Small town girl
on the streets of Illinois
from Chicago or Springfield
to the white house
a woman of passion
letters that tell of heart ache
a façade that decorates the makeup 
just the gal that nobody noticed
until she touched the top
and then everybody wanted to know

If you’d like to read or continue with my new romance/lustful short story ‘Discovery Avenue’ then click the link below. Part 3 has just been added, which is quite brutal. Peter is in the grips of a dark night, and his carnal desires are causing him to put his own life in danger without even realising it. Is it karma or is it fate? Each short episode or part is released daily.

https://www.wattpad.com/story/307873965-discovery-avenue

~ * If you enjoyed this post then please like, comment, follow and subscribe to my blog for more great content. I’d love to hear your short stories or your real life stories so connect below! Feel free to post links to your works too.


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Discovery Avenue – Part 1 & 2 (Romance Fiction)

Welcome to Psychedelic Wizard.

I have just created a Wattpad account, because apparently you can write and publish stories on the site. I was a little wary of this since it could potentially be unsafe as there is no protection. But the site says that work published is protected. So, I decided to start publishing a romance story on there.

I don’t usually write romance but the story seems interesting. It is a part of a story I have just started writing, however it is a story of events which took place before the current story I am writing. So, a sort of prequel. I have not mentioned this on Wattpad as I want to see if it is liked by people and to develop a story on the platform, essentially giving it a try.

The story is called Discovery Avenue

‘Peter is on an all night drinking marathon, until he gets into the mood for sex. The only problem? His girlfriend is at home in bed, waiting for him. Will he continue on this dark night looking for an encounter, or will he go home?

This is his story of a sexually charged night looking for an affair or romance. Will his discover love or lust or will it be danger for him?’

https://www.wattpad.com/story/307873965-discovery-avenue

https://www.wattpad.com/1215543060-discovery-avenue-she%27s-asleep-part-2

Above is the link to the first and second part of the story, which is mature, as is this story. I would encourage anyone who likes reading my posts or short stories to check it out and if you like and comment on Wattpad it tells me that I should continue with the story. Ultimately what it is about is a man changing for the worse, coming to realise what he should not have taken for granted, coming to accept himself and essentially a loving ending, or so we hope. There will be dark scenes and there will be black mirrors so anyone not prepared to look into the dark soul should not read it. I hope you enjoy following the story as it progresses. I intend to write a passage every day at least. They will be short as to keep people interested. Part 1 is called ‘uncomfortable dinners’. I have no idea where this will go and I don’t really hope for any kind of professional interest, it really is a vanity project, but one that I would love to explore and write nonetheless.

Aside from that thank you for checking out this post!

Blood on my feet

You spin and spin

the room is the lustful gain of sin

tilt your head and the lights go blind

move your body and you're inside my mind

chasing a ghost around an open floor

pushing your bare hips against that stone wall

slitting your throat at the ball

no more nice games

... and no more amour.