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Posts Tagged ‘patriotism’

display of the american flag

Is there a correct place for the installation of a flagpole displaying the american flag?

Left side, right side, center?

No other flag or pennant should be placed above or, if on the same level, to the right of the flag of the Unites States of America.
Here is the complete US code:

http://www.prestigememorials.com/Flag-Cases-Displaying-the-US-Flag-information.php

patriotism and nationalism

Watch New York Jets VS New England Patriots

 

Watch NFL New York Jets VS New England Patriots Online

 

National Football League has a flexible schedule for the last seven weeks from the regular season. The game between the New England Patriots vs. New York Jets have played face to face is more or less as a team of two rivals. New York is 2-2 against teams in 0500 and struggled to beat some of the cupcakes on their schedule that need last-minute heroic side Broncos, Lions and Browns. For New England, they can improve their status as a legitimate contender with a win over the Jets after the game against Pittsburgh, Indianapolis and Baltimore.

When the Patriots run the Jets will benefit! The New England Patriots running backs for different reasons. While Kevin Faulk will be the third back, and no wonder people in the amount of essential, too good for protection of transport and even sports. But when the New York Jets running, he left. When the New England Patriots will take advantage Patriots. Patriots and benefits when the New York Jets passes. In all, I'll put the weight advantage favored New England Patriots and the remarkable team has improved significantly since last year, and they are very good kicker. And the New York Jets punt return also good, but not in the same league as the Pats.

 

LIVE stream; Watch NFL New York Jets VS New England Patriots Here!!!

The Jets figure, a kind of combination of Darrelle Revis and Antonio Cromartie have to Deion Branch and Wes Welker. Revis should even Cromartie and two of the best corners in the league is, there is not much use past the Patriots to take some mismatches, particularly when it tightly around the two ends rookie arrives. Rob Gronkowski and Aaron Hernandez could cause problems for the Jets, especially in New York lack of safety Jim Leonhard, who for the rest of the season with a broken leg. Hernandez had a career day against the Jets their first meeting, finishing with six catches for 101 yards, while Gronkowski remains a red zone threat. No matter who gets the ball, it should be possible for the New England passing game. It relies on you to benefit from the Patriots.

New York is the fourth in the league defensively against the run, allowing an average of 86.3 yards per game when the Patriots can not beat the Jets, a team before implementation. But the running game on Monday night. Witness, what the Patriots makes in Decenber, a 14 victory over the Steelers - running back then the best team in the league in defense. In one, New England ran the ball 24 times a team on the way to a 39-26 victory over Pittsburgh. In a perfect world for the Patriots, they get a lead in the second period, then the running game, bleed the clock.

The biggest concern for the Jets to the position of this game is to defend the pass. Tom Brady has no shortage of weapons around him and the defense has struggled all season. It would be interesting to see how the Jets use their two elite cornerbacks in coverage during the game. I want to see Darrelle Revis Wes Welker on third downs, but beyond that I think he spends most of the rest of the game in Deion Branch. Antonio Cromartie needs to adjust the size of the Patriots tight end from time to time.

The key to this game is how to manage the players Saves Patriots secondary spread of education. Drew Coleman Dwight Lowery, James Ihedigbo, and maybe even Kyle Wilson all have to build a solid performance. I expect that the jet often see six or seven defensive backs on the field. the ability of New England moved the football based on their passing attack. By Jim Leonhard now out of the lineup all have to improve their game.

 

 

 

 

About the Author

patriotism book

A Journey into the Unknown (book excerpt)

chapter 6 going down

Those days I fell in love with every girl that looked at me. Lord knows I was so desperate, so lonely, but too bad.

Whoever said kingship was all about red wine, concubines and entertainment? Sometimes a king would even see his thrown as a burden, of course sometimes he would come to his senses later on and realise all he needed was a chill pill. And most times he would probably end up having one too many.

I wasn't just king of this non-existent kingdom, I was the servant, the slaves, the cleaners and every other labourer was a paid professional. I had built the thrown, but I never proclaimed myself king. It wasn't just a security measure, it was uncertainty, uncertainty that I would fall as I always did, uncertainty that I wouldn't live up to my own expectations, expectations that were now even almost too high to be achieved. I was king of thieves in a kingdom that was, not so much of a pimp’s paradise, but maybe an addict’s haven. Things only appeared as though they were fine. In fact everything was falling apart and after a while, all efforts went towards putting things back together. By the time I was back on my feet I knew there would be something waiting to knock me down again. A cycle I had been trained for day after day after day for years, and yet it would still come as a shock every single time. A cycle The Bastard would refer to as life, in other words, hell. To me I had already lost the battle on earth, and bore deeper and deeper for the roots of evil hence when I moved up in the game, I was really going down, hell bound.

I tried to make sense of my nightmares, but it turned out most of them were reality. The other day I had a dream about something, which I couldn’t remember the minute I got up, as was usually the case. Then as I got up, a form on the couch beside me seemed to raise its head as well, as if having fallen asleep. It looked like a beast or a monster or both; it was in fact a demon. It slowly faded away as I came more conscious. I quickly turned my face to the right and there I saw a white mist as if there was another form there but this time a white form, maybe an angel. Of course, I was moved but by now to me anything was possible, I was scared to death but I didn’t say a thing. I was getting used to things being out of order and weird as hell.

Crime for me became more and more abstruse, the one word that could properly describe the character I had acquired over the years. It wasn’t just going against the grain anymore; it was going against everything that was normal, everything that was the usual thing to do, turning my back on the world and a real society and pursuing everything unusual, like taking the dark road searching for peace when normally one would expect to find peace in the bright surroundings, sunny blue skies and all that crap that makes people love the summer holidays. One wouldn’t expect anything more than a mugging or stabbing walking through a dark alley way at night alone with no protection in unfamiliar neighbourhoods, but this had become routine for me. Fear wasn’t completely absent; instead I had grown more used to and accepted the feeling. Fear had kept me on the right track most of the time and even kept me away from danger. As the bastard would say, “keep a stab rare by the fear”.

Only the brave go to war, soldiers ready to die for their country, consider me not a patriot. Aside from the fact that I was of a mixed background so I never really knew where I was from, I hated politics. To me politicians were just, regardless of what they said, out to better themselves and themselves only. To me politics was just another business venture and very much like show business, make believe. The whole economic system was in fact based on crime, crime which had been polished off and given a civilised appearance and name. Every single potential presidential candidate would campaign, saying the same old things he or she would do and then get elected and never do them. People would complain, once again, and then go out again to get deceived and vote at the next election. If one ever asked a politician a question, one could never expect a straight answer but instead a bundle of technical terms jumbled together in a way that the majority of the masses would never understand but if it sounded right then it was acceptable and it always sounds right. Everyone, regardless of what they say or said is out to get the best they can for themselves, how much more politicians, why should they be any different.

A question The Bastard would always ask was what was done with the evidence after a big drug seizure? Surely it wasn’t destroyed. Who in their right minds would believe that load of crap? What kind of self respecting, modern day man would dispose of hundreds of kilos of illegal substances in any other way than one that would generate the mass amounts of revenue which it is worth? One wouldn’t expect the evidence room to hold any illegal substances longer than necessary but it would then it would ‘mysteriously’ disappear and find its way back into the streets along with a bunch of marked pistols and ammunition so that dealers can be traced and the same substances and more cash can be seized once again.

Of course all this is just the common assumption in the streets but nobody especially not criminals can do a thing about it. I never spent hours thinking of how crooked cops or politicians were or how it affected me but instead how to better myself like everyone else because I was at a disadvantage, I was the one and only in my kingdom, there would be no wars because there were no soldiers and the only evidence or commodity ever found in my territory or possession if ever raided would be cash. Of course it would all disappear into thin air easily and quickly with the technological advances these days, money laundry now a thing of the past.

Chapter 7 Big paper

A wise man once asked me how much it would take for me to even as little as crack a smile. For me money wasn’t the problem anymore. It was life; it was waking up in the morning and having a place to be, a place I belonged, having “work buddies” and work quickies and friends and all that stuff that now seemed like a fairy tale to me. Of course by this time it was safe to say I was becoming sloppy but I didn’t give a damn, my heart was bleeding, I needed some damn love in my life. I had started to crave the things of the past again. I never got to have them so I chose this life as a consolation. I never had cool friends so I became the cool guy. I never had money so I chased money. I never had a girl friend so I became a pimp, close to the time when I had come in contact with my high school sweet heart again. I thought I would never see her again. Just when I was being forged into this heartless bastard, she came and softened me up once again.

She brought me life. It was like a gift from the mother land, I felt alive. She was in town on holidays, though I didn’t know at the time. We would talk for hours on the phone well into the night and say almost nothing of importance. I had too much to hide, and as with everyone I ever met, I couldn’t say much about myself. There was nothing much to say. If anyone ever asked what my source of income was, I would say I didn’t know as that would be the truth, money came to me. My job was to keep craving it and spending every day and night chasing it. Every minute was to be spent in the line of duty.

Prostitution, pimping, wasn’t that hip-hop fantasy it is made out to be these days by these damn kids with too much money; big fine bootilicious girls in apple bottom jeans dancing around a luxury apartment drinking champagne and all that crap, nothing like that. The real milk men always said pimping wasn’t easy and only fools would run around calling themselves “pimps”, the real milk men played the part and let the people call it what they wanted to. The word was something of a derogatory term for people in the profession long ago.

The pimp game for me was a link between sex, money and drugs. I had later referred to it as the devils work but I didn’t quit though. I spent years dragging drugged up ‘horses’ to high, drunken clientele both male and female and I couldn’t even boast of earnings to make up the nature of the job. One could tell some of the horses where diseased but they would still be a part of the team as long as they were willing and able. It wasn’t the dream job but at least I had something to look forward to the next day and plus the game came to me spontaneously, like every single one of my occupations. I was grateful, grateful to whoever was responsible.

Damn demons!

I was always one to look on the bright side of things, but I moved on the dark side, there was really no bright side to be seen, though it was there but over shadowed by the evil and clouded by the danger.

Sometimes I would wander off into the woods far away from civilization just to get away from it all. I always knew there was more to life than money and horses, something supernatural. I believed in a higher power on earth that was being over looked by modern man, that science wasn’t the answer to everything, maybe even just a short cut taken too far. That energy could come from the human body itself, that the body could be the ultimate renewable source of energy. I believed that one could establish an almost permanent connection with the spirit world on earth and evolve into a new form, that heaven and earth were not just separate entities but indeed a part of each other and that the angels depended on humans as much as humans depended on them. I believed demons would surround whoever was evil and lead him to the devil either in hell or on earth. Of course once I was back to civilization, it seemed none of the things I believed mattered to any one. It seemed no one ever even bothered to think about life or what they were doing on earth not to talk of the supernatural. Every one only bothered about tomorrow or today even, I was miles away, bothering about how I could make my adult hood as fulfilling and prosperous as possible.

As a kid, I was afraid to be like my pedigree, though they weren’t poor and they were even happy, they were caught up in that endless daily turmoil that I couldn’t see myself surviving or thriving in. I was afraid of struggling ‘forever’ so instead I started my own struggle and it turned out to be even worse than the one I had perceived. I had chosen to struggle in a cycle of death, a cycle whereby low lives struggle for years over and wind up either dead or in jail.

For some reason I thought it would be up to me to end the struggle whenever I chose like it was some game, a struggle which was in fact life, life in its pure form, all that I was lacking was the necessary humility and complacence and it would all be ok.

I failed to realise that life wasn’t supposed to be peaches and cream, that richer folks simply had bigger bills to pay and had to work even harder and after a while, I realised that some people didn’t even think as far as success, some people were fine with life the way it was, just living everyday as it came. Why was I different? And while a part of me thanked God for that difference, the other half wanted to be normal, wanted to wake up in the morning and go to work, on the bus or train, in the same old shoes and the same old suit, to the same old desk, but with friends to talk to and colleagues to hate and take out my bad days on and go to the pub with after work, trying to get at the same old girls and all that crap because at least everything would be more certain, there would be a pay check at the end of every month. What I had forgotten was that I wasn’t even successful at that normal life. I was always hindered by social incompetence and shyness on the job coupled with my childhood hatred for mankind that never seemed to go away. Who would ever buy life insurance from someone who wouldn’t look them straight in the eye or ever even crack a smile or make nice comments or at least a bit of sucking up or few complements on a nice ladies hair or dress and all that shit? Of course if I worked on my social incompetence long enough things would have gotten better but too bad I didn’t. Too bad I had perceived every thing getting worse the more I tried, it was like trying to mould cold metal, I was set in my ways. The more I tried, the more I failed and the more it hurt. Too bad I was too a sore looser, a sore looser too soft to take a beating even, but not for long. The only thing positive about my character was that I could spot all those qualities and flaws and admit them shamelessly. Normally, people would try and cover them up and try more at appearing to be the toughest than actually being the toughest but not me.

At this point in my life I was working out almost every day of the week. I hit gyms all across the country as I would be in different boroughs or towns every other day of the week. I didn’t belong anywhere but I would thrive anywhere.

After a while I had built a body of confidence but nothing changed on the inside. Few ‘alpha dogs’ could see that I was built soft and had done something about it but of course no one  would know what. Most would usually think I had a concealed weapon of some sort or something and though most people were shallow thinking most of the time, they could never fail to admire as they watched the under dog striving, not just striving but thriving as well. But that was only what they perceived, just the way it seemed.

When I made money one would think I could never have dreamed of having, most of the time I would have dreamed of having much more, I would still continue as though nothing had happened. I would still do as those with nothing would do. Consequently, I would do more than was necessary half of the time. I would plan for the worst of the worst, things that may never even happen. I never had anyone to teach me or show me a way through the streets so I would analyse situations by viewing them from the extremes. I only knew three phases, top, middle and bottom. It was years before I realised where I was in the game I played, in my life, as it were. I had spent years at the bottom, now every moment was tending toward the bottom from the middle section but I was reaching for the top. It was an endless struggle, the one I intended to cut out.

Money wasn’t the root of evil anymore. ‘Big paper’ was the root of evil. During harder times when everything was slow or stood still, I would turn around and try to rekindle old flames that had been extinguished at earlier stages of the game, smaller moves that used to bring in funds back then, but those times had passed. Adopting the same methods or even more advanced methods couldn’t rekindle those flames.

It took some time for me to realise that I had in fact moved up a notch. I had in fact made it to the middle and though it was far from enough, I was starting to get the feeling nothing would ever be enough. The obsession had taken its toll, a toll that was indeed essential for my progress, but one which would be hard to be freed of, if at all it was possible.

Every ‘pay packet’ sparked an even bigger hunger for more and every hunger for more came with a passion, a passion for evil, a craving for speed and the need to slow down- another excuse for some more alcohol, cigarettes and Mary Jane, topped up with yet another happy ending massage session.

Chapter 8 Waking up each day

By this time the authorities were hot on my trail as I was spotting the very fruits of labour they would see if I was guilty of the crimes they were trying to solve.

Everyday big bill earned now only spelled a bigger sentence. My mode of operation was unique. I was a pioneer. I only did things people would never do because they were too risky and the necessary precautions wouldn’t have been taken by victims because it would appear as though only a fool would risk such crimes.

Like instead of a bank with loads of security, breaking into a police station, no one would ever think of it but think of how much illegal substances could be found lying around, how many weapons would be at ones disposal. And to think all one has to do to get in would be to get arrested...but this one would never happen. I forgot I would then have to break out of the cell first to be able to get around.

Waking up now came with reluctance while hugging the sheets tight. It became just another journey into the sick world, another stressful rendezvous, another avenue to spend money. In the words of a famous comedian, “soon as you get out of bed you are spending”. You‘ve got to eat, take a bath, and now even breathing costs smokers-  some would even pay with their lives and it won’t be because they ran out of money.

My whole life became an ‘issue’ to be addressed. Of course I wasn’t praying for death. To me I was dead, praying for life. Nothing was as should be. I slept most of the day sometimes and came out at night time, with the foxes, crickets, owls and snakes. Moonlight was peaceful, peaceful and discrete. Though it left most of the brightness hidden, it also kept most of the darkness hidden. There was no good or evil in my eyes, just life, or death as it were. Everything was, in a way neutralised, just like my character. There were no peaks and troughs or if there were, they weren’t acknowledged. They would make no difference.

Most of the time I would try not to smile just to fit in with the crowd where ever I went because though they had everything I wanted, most of them were lacking the only thing I had, the reason for my death, the root of my evil. Everyone was either coming from work late and tired or working the night shift. I wouldn’t smile much so as not to induce any ‘hatred’ or jealousy and in tougher neighbourhoods, armed robbery or plots to catch me sleeping. One could say I had nothing to smile about because I had nothing I needed on the inside, but in the world today, having money always appears and usually is a better position to be in than not having it regardless of what else one had or lacked.

I remember days stranded outside at night in possession of thousands worth of merchandise, but no raw cash to get me a place to sleep or even get me to a place to sleep or at least to my dealer. I was never one to sell stuff on the streets in such cases for small amounts just so I could get by, if I had to I would sleep in the sewers then walk through the city in the morning not giving a damn until the money was in my hand. Then, I would worry about how much I stunk and all that crap. Everything had a price, and each price to me was now like a piece of my soul, hence, I wasn’t selling for anything less.

I later came to realise that in a bid to maintain a steady flow, never addressing peaks and troughs like a money making machine, never smiling or frowning just stacking and counting, I had in fact created this lukewarm lifestyle with no substance. Everything was regulated to fit the schedule and the schedule was twenty-four hours, leaving no time for anything.

At a point I became some sort of sex addict but I grew out of it slowly. It became too monotonous; once I was done I was gone. I wasn’t the type that would go all night or for hours, and then maybe talk after, or cuddle or try new stuff or bond or whatever. I was the type to hit the showers immediately after feeling disgusted thinking “man, what a slut”, or “damn, can’t believe I put my finger in there”. I had no more regards for the feminine population whatsoever, pimpery had destroyed my sensuality. I now only thought of women as sex objects, as most men probably do consciously, but this was unconscious. Like most of my other ventures, it only went on for a while but it became an on and off thing, only on when times where hard, moments in the troughs, other times I would kick the horses to the curb. Filthy sluts!

I always said what a man did for a living wasn’t so important but it would ideally mould one into a form and one could pick up certain characteristic values along the way.

In my case, ‘work’ was my ‘life’, plotting, scheming and executing was the job so even when I was idle, I was hard at work and consequently, my real self only came into consciousness once or twice a month when the loneliness had really kicked in and I had to take that chill pill. Nowadays it’s more frequent; at sun down, that emptiness and self repulse awakens. I feel like I’m depressed or something but deep down I really don’t give a damn.

I had blocked out the highs and lows, so that everything would be more constant, everything would be able to fit on a straight line, be predictable, stable and even up to an extent controllable. In a way, it was similar to the way the masses chose the simple life. I was slowly achieving my goal, though I was still an outlaw, I was becoming like regular people, my dreams and excessive enthusiasm was being dampened. I started losing my excessively high drive, and aspirations. All I wanted was to be alive and free, and to be able to relax but then I realised that that wasn’t the way of life, it was the choice mare sheep would choose, the choice to just wait around and follow the leaders when they move, the choice to never lead, never lead because of the need to think or make important decisions or use ones initiative or take the blame in the case of a wrong doing or never have to face the shame of failing and falling back to being just the regular sheep, indeed the lazy choice. If life was stress free, this would be paradise, heaven, we would be angels, and probably be able to fly as well. We were once spirits with no stress and came to earth to experience life, turmoil, in order to forge important virtues, both the ones lacking and the ones we already possess. Death is in fact a return to the spirit world, so to some wouldn’t be such a bad thing unless they thought or lived as if they were from hell. Of course life was meant to be an experience to write home about so one would ideally, regardless of what present or previous situations were, try to milk it for whatever it has to offer because ideally it would have a whole lot to offer.

I lived as if from hell, as if this was hell in fact, hence I was scared to death of death. Paranoia got the best of me, it got worse as the alcohol and drugs had their way with my brain cells, one after the other. I even got paranoid about being paranoid so sometimes I would hold back that next joint, especially if I had to go into the city during the day or any busy environments that could ‘Blow’ my mind which I wasn’t sure was a good thing anymore. My brain was processing every single bit of information in the picture, everyone that was around me was fully scanned and assessed as well as classified and categorised and all unconsciously, as a result I hadn’t got much energy to focus on what was important, I was now moving into the unconscious realms of operation which in the afterlife would be ideal, but on earth a bit unusual especial for one who had been a control freak all his life. I knew all I had to do was let go and let everything fall into place but I was unaware if it was really the time when everything was supposed to fall into place, whether all the pieces where available and whether they would fall into the right place. It now became apparent that my strong belief had brought my dreams into consciousness and set my unconscious mind into action guiding me in the right direction or in ‘A’ direction which I slowly noticed was uncontrollable on my part no matter how hard I tried. I would set out for something of value and return with something else which was of value too though not the same; the reason for my uncertainty. Every goal I set out to achieve was never achieved but there were always results or consequences of my actions or a discovery leading to another venture. Everything was in fact falling into place on its own. I was in fact getting in the way of my unconscious mind most of the time. It now became a battle of the worlds, me against myself; conscious versus unconscious.

All my time was spent thinking of how I couldn’t be like other people, how I had to go against the grain just to maintain and how I would stand out from the crowd and be spotted a mile away which wasn’t ideal for my occupation even. I now found myself constantly ‘bitching’ about how I didn’t have friends and couldn’t thrive in public places so avoided social gatherings. I had failed to realise that I was simply just different, different in the way every individual is from the other. Every individual is unique and special in every way, even down to his source of income. The difference would ideally create a spark in each individual if his character is adhered to.

I had been shy and reserved since a kid but I had it hidden most of the time, blacked out of my memory, so much so I forgot who I was. I had just, as it were, settled for being a loser trying to win, a nobody trying to be somebody and hence I had to put in my best work.

Getting paid became the high point of my life, the only thing that would make me almost crack a smile or even at least ease up a bit.

As I grew older, I started to adopt the no questions asked policy. I had to assume that everything was exactly as it should be. That life didn’t have a formula for change or success, and that time would reveal what the future held when the time came. I had realised that half of the things I had become weren’t a result of anything I had consciously planned or executed. Through all my failures, my many many failures, I had been acquiring new insights and qualities relating to different aspects of my life. Everything that was still remained, and everything that wasn’t could still be. All I had to do was to aspire and pray, pray and wait patiently.

Of course I had nothing to spend my time doing in the unlikely event that I prayed and waited. Friends and family were to play a good part in my life at that point, but too bad I had neither. By this time I had pushed them miles away from me.

All I had left was Mary Jane, the genie in a liquor bottle, cigarettes and the queens deep in my pockets. That was my life; my obsession, my very own prison, my custom built hell and above all my cycle of death.

A ‘wise guy’ once said humans die everyday when we sleep. I was starting to believe him. The loneliness would bite till the alcohol had taken its toll along with other so called ‘stimulants’ then I could eventually pass out and wake up the next day remembering nothing with a clean slate, a new life and a new emptiness.

Chapter 9 take me back

In the so called modern world, people are only ever ready to share their pain, never their joys. People only come together in hard times, funerals, fuel crisis, recession, terror attacks and tragic events. When everything is well, everyone goes back into their own corners, trying to be better than their neighbours or best friends, gossiping, plotting and scheming or whatever they do behind closed doors. Everyone else becomes the competition and then shortly after turns the opposition and then the enemy. At this point I was like an extra terrestrial looking into the world to see if it was habitable and seeing this put me off and in a way even justified my way of life, far from modern society.

Everyone pretended to be someone else so no one was special. Being better than the next man was good enough for some so there were no high flyers if nobody was flying. I would some times wander why couples would fight and despise each other, or why friends would turn around and gossip about each other or feel bad to see their fellow mates prospering or getting further than they could instead of sharing their joys as they shared the turmoil.

I still had a bit of my childhood innocence though I had aged significantly, heart now stone cold but I never really grew up. I had my inner child buried deep inside of me, imprisoned since an early age and as he slowly resurfaced, I was becoming more ‘humanly pure’ than some societies’ finest role models, of course, not taking into consideration any sources of income.

I had slowly been purified by my cross; the rebellion. I had been working on forging my virtues unconsciously. I learned about discipline from never quitting, never being too tired to go the extra mile even if it was on foot, or run that extra distance further from chasing cops, I learned the value of loyalty, the need for pain and even though for the wrong reasons, humility- I didn’t want to be admired, I was adorned with ill gotten begets and loaded with pelf, in fact it was possible that some of the jewels and cash had previously belonged to the admirers.

As time went on, I came to realise that life wasn’t a game. That life really was a struggle and the end of the struggle?

Drugs or ‘stimulants’ were to disable the mind even if only temporarily to ease pains that may arise during one’s life because humans would have at some point realised that pain would always come, like rain and sunshine. However, some people would realise that gain could come after the pain so the pain wouldn’t hurt so much or may be accepted more readily by people looking from that perspective.

According to the bastard, we were all angels that came to earth for the struggle, to attain purity to become even better angels when they die attaining a higher sense of self. In the same way that on earth things like wealth is never enough, one is never too rich, in the after life, one can never be too pure or pure enough, God is infinite and one must strive both in heaven and on earth to be more and more like him.

Money wasn’t the only root of evil in the case of the bastard. His mind was in fact the pioneer of all evil. Lack of humility and discipline, meant he would fail to accept himself at the beginning of his journey, coincidentally, he had money on his mind along side a mind load of laws that came broken. Crime was inevitable.

I was never one to turn around and walk or admit defeat no matter the circumstances but it was time to make a change, something had to be done. Everyday was going by even quicker and quicker, minute by minute, second by second. Some days I would literally watch time fly, of course I was ‘flying’ with it but going no where fast. I had become the devils own workshop as I possessed the idle mind coupled with the filthy, willing hand. I started to crave the very things I had run from for most of my youth once again, the simple life. It was also now certain that my soft side, my inner child was awakening and ready to begin its own over due rebellion against this new found self, against this bastard who was now falling apart. The part of myself I had despised the most, that I thought had no hope of surviving had in fact made it through the storm unharmed. On the other hand, the ‘new man’, The Bastard, was dead and still dying, failing over and over and over again, getting richer and richer, boring deeper and deeper into hell.

About the Author

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