u·to·pi·a

yooˈtōpēə/

Noun

An imagined place or state of things in which everything is perfect

Lines.

Entry 1)  I should not be writing, or feeling. They tell me that numbness is normal. They imagined the signs, they envisioned the nightmares, and they feared the potential credibility that lay within the pages. More important than their future, they feared their imagination. What beasts, what society, what ideas could they build that could induce the emotion. Emotion is what’s important. That’s what they say. Security is the emotion. Security is the driving force, or is it the lack of security, that keeps us here. What could be beyond does not matter. The emotions would not exist, the fear would be tolerated, and the people would be content. I’m the first to wonder why?

Entry 2) They teach the truth and they teach the history, but the words… They don’t matter. My people tell the stories and promote free thinking. MY? What is it that binds us? I DO have freedom to think. Is that open forest my prison? Free thought, the idea is encouraged but disbanded. But it’s not disbanded, at least not formally. It is discouraged. I cannot be alone. I cannot be the only one wandering through the blissful sea of ignorance questioning my existence and my purpose. I am part of “Man”. My purpose is not to be a part of all “Man”. It is to question “Man”. There is no word to convey my idea. There is no place where the doubt can be expressed. Well it’s not doubt really is it? It is my informal disobedience that is encouraged but that is really discouraged. That idea reflecting that disagreement with my doubt is the trap that is called freedom. It is the trap that is called happiness. And that IS the bliss we hear about.

Entry 3) Those Ideas though, those ideas that are just one step past ok are the dangerous ones. Style, charisma, class- they tell the story of an idea on projection of how I want others to make me feel. How I want others to see me. Those ideas are present but they aren’t presentable. Maybe I can show you, maybe I cannot, but every idea that has been and will be conceived has been decided. Every decision that has been made or will be decided have been decided. Those who did not do, were never destined to do. They speak of willpower, the power to DO. It is the power to make anything you want to happen come to pass. It is the power that is within you. The sad part is that those who did not DO, were never destined to DO. They never succeeded because they never succeeded. They say “he should have” or “she should have” but those ideas are elementary. He did not because it was never written into his life. The words we use to tell our story are not predetermined. All that is predetermined is our story. Every person alive has a story that can be told with an interaction… But it’s not an interaction, its millions of interactions, its millions of stories all crossing paths and all bleeding together to make people. To me that is exciting. On a level somewhere deep I know everybody. I have seen a part of every being in existence. The time of course does not line up though. The time is off and the sphere is bumpy, layered, dirty, but each line has rubbed me. Each line has been felt and its impact is profound. So is it because of you that He did not do or she did not do? He or she never could because you did not. But of course you did not because they did not. There is none to blame for inadequacy. Perhaps that is the reason it has been abolished.

Entry 4) I heard a story today about a boy who flew high in the sky with his father. He left his terrible prison and let his wings spread. He left the security. He left the despair but he was treated to death. He flew to close to the sun and his wings and freedom dropped him to an end of agony and sadness. His line, or his story changed your today. His story changed your today, but is his story my today? Is the sun my friend or my enemy? Is he free? The boy? No outrageous and ignorant for those to think that freedom is equated by a lack of responsibility or a lack of functioning needs? Freedom is an emotion. Emotions rule my life, and emotions created this line. Perhaps that is why they disbanded writing. I have created the ultimate paradox behind the meaning of life. Life is told by lines not language and life is bliss without the words. But what of love? Is love what makes us “US”? Or does love tatter and shred the lines that were previously created. How can love be within all and without all? It of course is an emotion and it of course cannot be quantified because those who are weak minded do not understand love. I do not understand love. The makers. That was their role. Their role was to build the sphere. They built, molded, and drew the lines on it, all around it creating an impossibly complex system of questions and answers to questions. They relied on comfort. Can comfort outplay love? No it cannot, comfort is the answer to all the questions those here seek to find. Comfort is simply the constant. Each single minded open minded child has their line drawn based on their amount for comfort and the answer to the question is difficult. Of course it is difficult, the question has not been conceived. The question is “how much or how little?” of what? Everything of course! Everything unquantifiable can be quantified by emotion-the unquantifiable idea. Emotion must be drawn into the line. Line acts on line, line moves tugs, sometimes tears lines short and those lines are the answer to the question behind the paradox of life. The equation for life and for time and for emotion is hidden deep with the line and will take a correct and accurate measurement to find the location where the lines form the perfect point and the answer can be discovered. That is where the equation lies for truth. That is the answer to purpose. And purpose is the answer to life. Perhaps my line drawn will be a part of the intersecting point. Perhaps my line will make an impact and will grow, tug, and pull other lines. But if it happens it happens, if it is to happen, it will happen, otherwise it is not to happen and my line will be little more than a mark that has so little an impact.