And The Wind Cries Worry and other 100 word vignettes

They Walk the Line

Certain young entrepreneurs

For fear disease might deny them

Have bull ants bite their flesh

From head to toe,

In the belief

That their resident demons

Plotting their demise

Will be driven away.

Success is their shepherd, they shall not want. It maintains their self belief. It leads them in the direction of contacts for expansion’s sake. Even though they might walk a risky line they fear no competitors. They prepare strategies in order to remain visible in the market place. Their pastures will always be greener. Their vision strong. Their appetites insatiable.


Daddy Dearest

There was once a family who,

When the patriarch died

Never mentioned his name

For he was kingly and sovereign

Whose rule was so dominant

That out of a strange reverence

The family would only speak of him

As ‘The Perfect Tyrant’.

My ego is sufficient for you, my power made perfect in weakness. I gladly boast of my strengths, so that my power may rest easily upon me. For Christ’s sake, be content with my strengths, my demands, your hardships and calamities. For when I am strong, then you are weak. And you’ll need me evermore – he said.


Tic Toc Tic Toc

If humans went back in time

Surely the further back they went

They would find the premises

Of belief and superstition

Though basic and primal

To be most akin to them,

For their bodies

Is what most resembles nature.

For everyone there is a season, a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to reflect, a time to be responsible; a time to be sick and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh. A fulfilling time.


Sartre Was ‘Ere

The first Existentialist likens uselessness to rubbish

The second likens it to junk

The third likens it to debris

The fourth likens it to trash

The fifth to dross

The sixth to refuse,

Thus their understanding of human life

Suffers many synonyms.

Consciousness watches over Existentialists. Discourse guides them, delivering them from the ways of the supernatural. That of perverted belief, which forsakes the paths of the simple life and walks in madness, and which rejoices in confusion and delights in the perverseness of fantasy, its path crooked, and demented is its ways.


And The Wind Cries Worry

When winds blow in suburbs

Their residents say

‘Here comes the Money-mother

Running over the streets’,

And if the winds are hot

There will be recklessness

And if the winds are cold

There will be insecurity.

The beast that they fear, loss, dwells in the bottomless pit of despair and is always ready to go on the way of destruction. And those suburban dwellers whose names have not been written in the book of debt will marvel to see the beast, because it is and is not and is always to come.


One Thing You Can’t Hide

It was the custom

In the old days of superstition

That someone who was sick in the mind

Was called the Crippled Goat,

Limping on one foot

To show the rest

That what was happening on the outside

Was happening inside too.

For though one such walks in the flesh, there is no war against it by the flesh. For the weapons of warfare are not of the flesh but the mental power which can orientate and disorientate the body. Every objection raised against the knowledge of mental illness makes one captive to it.


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