Chronicles of the Puppeteer · Dark Philosophy · Francis himself · Humor · Poetry Exclusive · The lone Puppeteer

Day 1: The Chronicles of a Derailed Destiny

The Chronicles of a Derailed Destiny

So once again I take time to write out a journal. An intense look through my pain so that maybe one day someone may read this and be uplifted from their hurt. Enable them to triumph over their turmoil and maybe overcome their own demons. You see I don’t view life like others do, I have an intense sentimental aspect about me which makes me alive and yet at other times hurts me to the core. I carry an odyssey of perturbed nightmares and illusions of a life beyond this one am living.

So let me start from the beginning.

There was a clown. A funny clown laden with numerous colors and with a goofy essence that only clowns could have. You see the clown’s work was to entertain, to be the source of joy to others despite his own self-being. Despite his own desire to persist in a life of his own. Often he would be engulfed in nightmares, dark hollow places where dreams would die and only the shades of gray possessed this God-forsaken land. In his horrors he would imagine scouring a bloody mountain which was covered with lifeless corpses and sorrowful moans emanating from the belly of the mountain. It wasn’t clear but it seemed his obligation in the ghastly madness around him was to seek out the cries emanating from the mountain and probably share his color with them. But somehow he couldn’t get to the peak of the mountain and all he could do was crawl effortlessly in search for the peak in search for the end, in search for his own respite.

I was the clown. My life filled with the intense burden to please nay to entertain nay to enrich other’s lives while my own was in grey. Grey is a complicated color you see, for grey is a compilation of the black color (absence of color) and the white color (wealth of color)

Hence the irony. Thus the coveted meaning was that life was neither dark nor illuminated. It was a pale stagnancy with no livid dreams but just an uncertainty and fear that probably the scene would never change and probably the hurt would never come to an end

So let’s move on to a different being;

There was a music maestro, a being enchanted with the art of music. Filled to the brim with the powers of music enchantment and seduction. His music drove away evil and brought peace. His notes glowed in the dark.

But he had dark covered secrets, skeletons in the closet you might say. But the main deficiency this soul had was that he couldn’t love. He couldn’t feel the simplicity of love. He couldn’t endure the patience nor the sweetness of love. He couldn’t see people beyond their masks and he lived a life to entertain but he couldn’t quench his own thirst for true joy in finding love.

His music carried an understanding you see, for all those people who were terrified of the dark and for all those who were perturbed by the light. His music carried ones soul to the outer limits where only imagination and pain existed.

You were the maestro with your careless lifestyle of perverting the minds of innocent souls with your lies and deception. As you carried on with your destructive ways walls would falter in your wake but you were too engulfed in your selfish desires to allow yourself to love, to cherish other peoples thoughts to be part and parcel of their lives. To share in their pain and maybe learn if not once but learn nevertheless……. To love. I’ve asked about you and your memory is vivid with uncertainty.

Puppeteer-astro

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