Excerpts from Notes of B.A.

I used to think, it's not fair. It's not fair to have people who have more rights than others because of the family they were born into. Not for a service rendered to the nation; not for earning it, but through a coincidence. It isn't fair at all.
But then I see the poor on the streets, hungry, without shelter, and I think, what's fair? What's fair when you have people dying of starvation when others can die of overeating?
Is this equality?

*

Suddenly I don't know where we are anymore. Am I at fault? Are any of us? We've moved on. New friends, new lives, new worlds. We have less in common.
There's no real reason as to why we drifted apart, nor a turning point, a line where we divided. We didn't fight.
Maybe that's the cause. How we parted.

*

[fiction]
..so congratulate yourself - from being another face, somehow you've snuck into the cracks and made yourself indispensable, holding my life up, stopping collapse. But let me tell you: many have done it before, and each have not succeeded in their goal which is now yours. You see, if I took every person I could not exist without and had them lie down flat in a line, heat to foot, they would circle the globe and a little over. Yes, you are important to me, but there are many above you, as well as those who are also important in a different away. I am sorry. I cannot accept what you offer.
If there were a way to define your relationship to me, it would be as the classic, "a very close friend", which is, in fact, exactly what you are. Yet I know you will keep trying. Try. I will not stop you. I merely discourage you for fear that you build your hopes too high for stability. But if you can, if you dare, why not? Try! And for aught you know, you may succeed.

*

[random points to ponder]
Just a step away from freedom... Just a moment further to go. Then in a blink you wish you were bound, as before.
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You stretch to your limits, you strive. It's a tortured life to lead. Sometimes each particle of you aches with an unnameable pain you wish would end you. No resent; no false, decorous hatred. You hurt without source.
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Liberty from pain is mere existence. Where do you go? After struggling, what do you know anymore? The prize is no longer of import. The mountain has been scaled.
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You live for the climb, th uphill-sprint. So you may stand upon the top and say, I did that, I suffered for it. The aim is not to reach the peak.
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Stopping to smell the roses is not an option. Once you stop, you know that motion was purgatory. How can you start again?
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Because when you move, you feel nothing, there is no effort. It is instinct. It is natural. There is no other way.
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We are restless.
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So forgive us for not joining your choir of freedom, we prefer imprisonment. We would rather be led than lead, we want Them to show us where to go. Is that not the tune we oft sing? The melody we play when we conform? Are we not blind?

*

There were more, but chances are low that I would ever publish those. Nite now.