Lack Jack

"Lack Jack"
By: Blake T. Miller


Multiple times, writers face the dilemma of what to write and especially, how to start. I guess, it is a frequent expression when somebody for an example says "Your Mind is So Twisted." I should have known that writing is a lair of pain and alots of mental isolation in the skull sought for better creases of imagination. It is kind of like broken glass bottle that shatters when is thrown to the sea and through erosion, the sea return these broken glasses back to the shores. The glass's edges become alot more smoother.

The best kind of writing is when people write beautifully and, harminously. What I am trying to say, everybody got their own demeanor, their own character, their own voice and, it is like the islands in the starry sky; "The Onion" of the Orion is upon us all to be funny. Nevertheless, I am not here to nail you a lesson or, lecture some kind of a degree. I am here because I strive for a higher high and a healthier health. In words, I stake that writing is a form of cerebal Athletcism. I was put on this earth by God.

My body have survived the claws of wear and tear, of chemical posioning and of murderous calorie diet, an addiction and a rocky fall. Every scar has a story is what I like to state. However, the only person I got to blame for this mountain of hardship is myself. The world is getting more scrambled up and people are becoming more complicated as wanton increase. It would be a mistake to claim that this Government is perfect. It would also, be a mistake to say that there is no more thoughts left to think, because, I am here to tell you that there are plenty of thoughts that havent to been thought of. We must search for these thoughtful solutions to improve the lives of others, as well as ourselves. A mind is a terrible thing to waste, so, it is an necessity to flick the switch from off to on. On the news channel, it paints an abrasive world we live in, as though, the marble of the courtroom floor is smooth like the scales of snake. "Sssssss....." "Ssssss..." the Snake hisses to the humane observants.

Alot of people really just wanders in this institution of civilization. Where did these walls come from? Where did these Columns come from? Where did the food come from? Where did the House Flies come from? Technologies bloom as if history is untold. What is the story of the food that sits on our dishes? What is the story of the clothes and the products we wear?

Everything that sits in a household has a story, as Money is printed out of machines. Money, to me is just paper and ink, but the power money that carries is undeniable. Money functions because it has a seal; a seal of power that yields intimidation and burst doors open. This seal is a really steal, sometimes. I always have wondered; why can't the Government fund money to print more money? Money itself, would lose power when Money decreases in rarity. Then, I realize Money is to control. Money is a tool of control that the few oppress and throw their weight around on the majority of people, like some kind of a frantic General.

I do question the intergity of Rich People and why they deserve to hold so much power. I also, question the leadership and the intelligence of the Poor People for allowing so much lows in their lives from the crux of Money. It is rape of the foremost; charging an indigenous cape on the heart of Jesus. Why must we be flogged? This gap is a sickness that forces us to watch too much T.v. like an advanced addiction syndrome. The existence of living has become exquisite torture that is being inflicted upon us as we age and like William Shakespeare says, "All life is but, a Stage."