Life, is a recycle

“The cycle of life, birth, living, death, a few the smiles, the eternal strife, it’s all simply, a form of things being recycled, am I right?” Gun Roswell

Life, is a recycle

They say all the intellectual properties have all already been done, by the selected few masters, perhaps in the very past, but maybe something new maybe there also and then retweeted by the masses.

Whether it is a simple repost of someone stating something great or even cheering for hate, there are those reposting, everything. Recycling every single word and picture found out there, on the world wide web.

It might be even someone you idolise, having said or done something clever, like your neighbours cat or Baby Yoda, whomever… But the internet of things, where we so much time spend is basically just that, recycling everything and anything.

The same can be said for life.

Whether it is poor choices or old memories, reliving those special and not so special events. Or then simply going through the daily grind, the supposed life.

It’s all the same really, just think about it: Sleep, eat, rinse and repeat. 

And if lucky enough somewhere there smack in the middle of it, maybe having some new idea, a break from the ideal, a trip or a party perhaps?

In school the teachers taught as all they know? Maybe, at least, some of the things, making the information flow, circling around and to everyone.

We as adults move along, repeating the steps of others, our parents, grandparents and so on. Then as parents pushing the learnt knowledge to our offspring, the cycle continues…

At work reusing the already invented and proven processes and methods, as why invent the wheel, it is round anyway and well, a circle. Moving along, in rounded circles.. see the repeating theme here?

Then the trash, yeah, that is the ultimate recycle! But that is a whole other tale, all the stuff we accumulate… and then throw away. Perhaps try not to do that to our lives?

In the end, its all just fine, admitting to it and then moving along with the circle of life! Heck, even the name says it all. Circle, life, recycle?

And so, whatever your belief or faith might just be, in the end, life itself might just repeat after death, a total and complete recycle of beings.

I myself, will certainly want to come back as a cat, that much is sure, as having all the internet cheering for me just being me! But then I would not care about any kinds of cycles, re or not. Except perhaps for a ball of yarn, that’s circular, right?

Plotting, planning, always writing

“There is just something so freeing in writing by the seat of your pants, the flow simply pouring into any tale possible… but the editing of said supposed masterpiece is pure hell!” Gun Roswell

Plotting, planning, always writing

The guidelines for any good writing, apparently are those of careful planning, plot devising and character development, not to mention world building and keeping it in the rigid story structure as taught by the myriad of books out there for novice and even the more advanced writers and those whom are still searching for their, thing?

Sure, but if those same teachers also urge the bard to write what they know? About their lived life, the things around them, the daily grind? Well, then far off are we as life, really has no such structure. Unless you count the birth, living and death as such, a three act structure perhaps?

But then, how can you write that story if you are still living?

Okay, taking things to the very extremes as this author usually tends to do, no matter life, writing or well, plotting the secret world domination…oops, that one was supposed to be a secret? Guess the cat is once again popping out of the bag eh?

But I do digress.

The type of writer, no matter what the books, the tubes, the articles might just suggest are only guilders, recommendations. After all, writing, is an art form along any other similar activity. And whether you prefer to write whatever pops up into your wicked little mind and do not care about plotting, planning and such, then you are as correct to be doing so as those whom simply love to plot and plan and whatnot.

It’s all good, as long, as you keep on, writing.

As there is no right or wrong way, to simply sit down and write.

Something which remains

“There is always something which survives the harshness of changing seasons” Gun Roswell

Something which remains

The nature, something wild and untamed

Even if nothing remains the same, when seasons change

Somethings, will never yield

To the yoke of weather, no matter how extreme

Keeping on, hanging there for dear life

Surviving, no matter what just might be the strife

The pests of nature as some might call them

But in the end, it does not really matter 

These survivors of the harsh, will become so much better

Each and every passing season

Some say, this might just be even treason

From Mother Nature trying to prove being better

But humans do not understand

What the real struggle really is all about

As they are the ones pushing forward

Destroying all that which does not seem smart

Then again, who are they to decide

Because in the end, nature will always triumph

Long after the last human has disappeared

The weeds as they were once called

Have made their stance at the waters edge

Still surviving, even thriving 

In the summers warmth and winters cold 

House by the lake

Living by a body of water, certainly is on the bucket list of plenty of dwellers, but yeah, it would be totally great live there“ Gun Roswell 

House by the lake

A house, built on top of the rocky hill, gives the onlooker chills, as it’s just by a cool looking lake, and that kind of a place, is just the best, at least during the seasons where the temperatures are warm and totally nice, the weather somewhat mild, and chilling down by the calming lake, well, there really is no better place, for spring or summer.

But, when the damp and cold October winds start, the house by the lake is starting to feel less of a place nice, with the howling winds and pouring rain, leaving a bunch of stains all over, the cold seething into the old bones… but the warming fires inside and out, keep them warm way into the darkest of nights, making the feel and looks all cozy without a fright.

And then soon enough, it is winter time, the freezing ice covering the lake, and then things don’t look as loaded with strife, as the old skates come off the hook, taking it out there on the lake, swirling around on the icy cover on a sunny but cold day, and hey, all bundled up and prepared, the house by the lake is simply great, no matter the season, so yeah, no complaints!

Three moods to be exact

“I seem to have only few moods these days, three to be exact and honestly, they are simply variations of each other” Gun Roswell

Three moods to be exact

There are times when one’s mood could be described as happy, even chipper with a laugh way too loud, maybe?

And then there are those times, more often so these days, when the one single mood, even if it was assumed they were three different ones, but totally so, they are the same, and this is where the poem start the writer to blame.

The blue, the grey and then morphing into the very dark, the idea of becoming totally snide with a loud bark, even if the whole idea perhaps none too smart.

Alas, it was a time of regress, if this special state needed to be confessed, moving away from the fun and sun, even people who seemed to be always and everywhere around.

Before there was a Dare Devil, but only the Devil remains

“There is something to be said about people living their very lives, taking on every adventure, seeking  out new things, until their little hearts sing  – I hate the lot of them, so sue me!!!“ Gun Roswell

Before there was a Dare Devil, but only the Devil remains

I used to be a Dare Devil, now, I am just a plain ole Devil

Cursing loudly, dooming all those daring venturers to the very pits of hell

Wherever they might just dwell, they know whom they area! 

So, with that note, yeah, they will so go far, never minding what this ole Devil had to say.´

Just because they have all those dreams left in them, making them towards their destiny sway

Wanting to take a swing on the tallest branch and then dive into the great unknown without any qualm, doubt or whatever is needed to just do whatever their little rotten heart desires

Supposedly the fire within, and to inspire them to move along with their stunts and what nots. 

Yeah, I might have been one of them, once, but not any more

What remains is the bitter punch, and that even is totally a chore to achieve

As once you have left that spicy spirit leave?

Well, there is nothing but bitterness, which will let the broken heart heave

Sitting by the seaside, pondering of life

“Life, death, life, things that nature, always come to mind, when sitting in absolute silence, by the seaside” Gun Roswell

Sitting by the seaside, pondering of life

Life is but a dream. Or so, it could quite easily seem. When seated at the soft and sandy beach. The calming blue waters gently flapping against the shores. Some would say the silence and the calm would be a bore. But for those of us waiting to simply ponder about all the wonders around. Well, noting could be farther from the truth. As both older people and some of the youth, need that special time, feeling fine. Simply, by sitting down and letting only the mind. Wander.

Light at the end of the very dark tunnel

“Even in the darkest of moments, a slice of light will crack through” Gun Roswell

Light at the end of the very dark tunnel

The darkness long and harsh, without any redeeming parts
The land, the sky, the ocean once blue, painted in the same hue
Of greyish black, dark as the heart of the dwellers without a clue
On how to and this all and to get back into the ways of light
As despite, all their efforts to gather up some slice of the nice
And warming softly burning fiery light, there had not been any signs
Of the darkness letting on and so, trying to remain calm and strong
The dwellers patiently waited and kept on looking into the horizon
For any and all signs of the bringer of light to be anytime soon rising
There was a long time spent, just doing nothing special to relent
To the thoughts of never ever seeing the hope in the air
Yielding into to semi permeant despair, as all the things to repair
The missing life of the light had failed but there was one who dared
To hop and sit and stare, at the tunnel of darkness but seeing the end
And there, the very hope of light, and standing guard just in case
The light could be spared all through the tunnel and to all others
Simply waiting in strife, and perhaps tomorrow would bring it forth

The lit path ahead

“The nightly road ahead, can be scary, when walking alone, no matter how up and grown one might be, but luckily, the snow and the lights carefully placed along, it is a much easier task to make the way home” Gun Roswell

The lit path ahead

The dark and long night, had a scary quality and not just the sight, of the long road ahead, to be walked in complete darkness as not even the moon was out this night. But as they weary traveller looked ahead, the path set up front was seemingly clear, not what the traveller had expected at all, rather now, getting more and more bold in getting on that trip, as the snow had fallen only moments ago, leaving a soft and glimmering trail to be followed, and to top the end of the formerly felt horrors on embarking on this path, the lights were now on, shining so brightly, it was almost like the darkness had rescinded and it felt more safe, almost like walking in broad daylight. So, without any further hesitation, the traveller got a new sense of self and with a deep breath and a resolve, started on the lit path, as it had been foretold.

My achy breaky tooth

“There is just something about a tooth ache, and being in that tight situation, in which is hardly a funny place to be!“ Gun Roswell

My achy breaky tooth

Sick and tired of aching, there is really no explaining, as to the why oh whys’ and the goings on

So why not simply take me to the dentist, as perhaps inside there something otherworldly exist

Right there, right inside of my poor, poor broken ol’ tooth and maybe I won’t even need that already hired and totally expensive sleuth 

As the mystery is beginning to unravel, bit by bit, broken off piece by piece, something which even my niece, would have a good laugh off

But, as the ache continued to run its cause, the source still unknown, not sure whether a small alien had made its nest there or was it just because

The only option was to try, some heavy duty drugs to push the ever constant hammering away

Then, someone suggested, that maybe, take a trip to the nearest dentist, something which in own foggy mind had not been a thought

So, reserving an appointment right there on the spot, and then running or rather walking to the doctor’s dreary looking shop

The whistles and whining sounds, not a pleasant greeting at the door

Still, I could not be that one person bore, who was afraid of a doctor, when the tooth was sore

Did not even manage to sit down, when a nurse called my name just on the sound of the bell and hell, I was so ready to subside that pain for good 

And what do you know, as it did not take a moment longer, counting from three to nought and then, waking up, not really sore, but with a bloated face

Than again, the pain had finally been taken away, so that was that then I guess