When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time harassing anthills and breaking things (what fun it was to control chaotic worlds), but what really drew me in was the allure of fire. It got bad enough that my mother would sit me down at least twice a(more) week to lecture me on my delinquency: "You're going to burn the house down!" she'd say. She repeated the phrase like a broken record and so her face and those words turned into a complete caricature.
See, I wasn't a stupid kid. I knew how to light matches, paper, sticks, leaves, and tree bark. I knew how to put them out, and I was never unsafe about it; I was never going to "burn the house down". I had great respect for fire and would spend many hours of my pre-teen years studying its voracity. I was spellbound by the way a flame would hungrily lick the air, lapping violently against wood, causing it to bleed sap and wither into the earth. I would stare into the heart, the burning essence of the fire, with admiration and understanding, my heart at one with its wild yearning.
Our universe is consumptive from the ground up; Life feeds on life. When a real, personal part of me died a couple months ago, I was shambling around drunk with a cigarette and no lighter. An angel gave me one and said, "Never lose your fire, man." Where did it go? I went to the shore and made a fire out of driftwood. Sat there thinking: To love is to eat, everything's hungry, everyone's fucking, everyone's buying what someone else is selling, I'm always here sitting, waiting, wishing, watching the fire, my innards cold and wet, not feeling it, spinning like a broken record.(less)
In battle, the honor's paraded. All might and courage in one performance. Each soul prepared for the ending of all. The Samurai stands tall, in and out through all the rants. Charging forth sacrificing moral. All for pride, all for country. But as the soldiers draw back, and make(more) their retreat, the Samurai must decide, death by sword or death by sword. (less)