The Godly Trumpet
I see the mountains turning yellow
The flowers melting to the sea
My blood runs cold through my body…
I don’t want your compliments. I want your blood!
I don’t want your songs of praise. I want you disgusted!
I don’t want your attention. I want your heart on a platter offered arms fully extended to that which truly makes you feel alive!
Everyday a new thought. Everyday a new idea. Everyday a new way to squeeze truths of Life from what I touch on Earth! I’m not mere man! I’m much more! Do you say this of yourself? Is the One willing to scream this to himself in earshot of The Normals flirting with madness, insanity?
Is it only by God’s grace I’ve yet to be locked in an asylum?
I feel like a chess piece unbound by the constraints of A-H 1-8. Unbound yet only in spirit. Right now I’m on the board. I’m interacting with other players, I’m moving. I’m conquering, attacking, I’m being attacked, I’m adjusting, I slide back to pre move safety. I’ve lost access to the mirror and can’t see which piece I am. Voices of others tell me, You’re a pawn, with no real power, no real experience! You’re a knight, look at your finesse and agility! You’re a Bishop, surely, says the family, look at that thoughtful foresighted approach in your actions! No screams the Friends you’re a rook, so passionate and brute, you aren’t swayed off direction!
In my imagination I sense the quiet unexplored land of I9. I yearn for it or, at my worst, I yearn for duct tape over the mouths of others as I’ve not been gifted the ability to unhear their words or ignore their thoughts and beliefs.
Above all, and after close consideration, I feel like the Hand moving the pieces. This mentality puts me, in my own view, on a dimension above others I cross paths with. Listen loudly now! This superiority isn’t judged by intelligence, bank accounts, physical looks or prowess or other things we judge by Here. This is a curse! And elaborating once more, I’d argue this isn’t even a conversation on hierarchy.
I’m not Superior, I’m merely Outside! No teamwork exist here. No understanding exist here because I can’t even accurately explain to others what I feel. Each time an inner thought lands on phrases that come close, they’re painfully mediocre when vocalized.
Beethoven to a deaf man is a useless, ugly piece of shit isn’t he?
I am the hand moving the pieces. Not the mind moving the hand.
I am the trumpet playing music. Not the mouth blowing the art.
I am The. I am Not.
I view this as good.
WITH SINCERITY,
WINSTON
