Thought Forty Seven

When the man comes around – Johnny Cash

We are looking for an end. Part of the transmission of knowledge across time through our mythology. Christianity and Islam are just the newcomers from across the vast reaches of time.

Is it more watered down this time?


It most likely has always done so. Stories are told and retold in a thousand million ways. Changing a little bit here and there. The knowledge of a thousand million lifetimes lost among the ruins of time gets a little more lost. People numbing themselves with distractions that allow a person not to think at all.

The philosophers over the last five thousand years have advocated for us to think. To spend time in contemplative thought. To reach for something beyond just the simple distractions of meaningless nothingness.

When I was a younger man, I remember thinking the work I did had meaning. I sacrificed my time, energy and emotions for nothingness and distraction. On video games as well. Today the distractions are ever present at an even larger level. Our phones, the computer, television, video games, etc. Ad Nauseum.

When I was a boy, there wasn’t an internet. I read many, many books, and my mind soared to high and low places. My imagination ranged far and near. We hiked and shot our guns, we explored places without fear, knew each other and chose to ignore our faults and become friends. Though some of us lived with violence from abusive fathers that struck us and damaged our sense of self, we still persevered. To become survivors of the hell that walked in our daily path.

Eventually, we grew up and restarted this process all over again. Choosing a mate that would ensure we were punished and damaged as before. Surely this meant that they loved us, for they hurt us as all had before. But alas, they did not love. For they weren’t truly capable of love. For it was not taught to them as a child. The gods they knew were harsh and jealous. They knew love not.

The sins of the father (or mother)

We were just there to feed their crooked and damaged selves. For time and time again we were punished and damaged until there was nothing left of us to destroy. And only then in that moment would we walk away to begin again.

Like the knowledge being transmitted across time through mythology, we restarted this all over again. I see this knowledge in innumerable places. In a book I have read, in a line in a television show or a movie I’ve watched. Occasionally a lyric in a line of music listened to. In a painting at a museum or sculpture, I was able to touch. The transmitted knowledge is out there. Perhaps encoded in our DNA or the atomic nucleus within each of our atoms that make us physical.


And although I may never meet you, I will cast my words out into the sweaty malfeasant void that is the internet with the thought that perhaps it may inspire you, dangerous reader, to look inward for a moment or two of introspective contemplative thought, rather than downward at your cell phone.

Breath… One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, Exhale…



Author: Robertus Invictus Maximus

Walking alone, in this the white desert.

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