I was thinking that all the posts on steemit are my legacy, something I will leave behind me, stories that will be found on the blockchain that will always be there.
This is the reason I do stories and posts of worth rather than just doing the same as everyone else.
That's not to say that what everyone does is not of worth, and some posts, such as the flora ones, and the herb ones, and philosophy ones and etc are good.
What I'm trying to say is that a lot of posts are done just to get a post out.
But what of the future?
Will the post of today be worth reading next week, in a year, ten years, a hundred years?
It's easy to pump out any old post just to get a post out there, it's something else again to write something that can be read long after you're gone.
Will what I write be worth reading a long time from now? Only time will tell...
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
The destiny of an open book of lost thoughts became self-aware at seven ten PM on a cold, wet Friday night and said: “Damn.”
This was more than the apple of the eye could stand and so a strongly worded note was sent to say as much but was torn up upon reading and that was that.
The clay foot that was lurking about near the ice cream parlour had better things to do and so did them and never once thought about anything else at all until the whistle came for dinner.
So when all three walked into the ballroom at midnight as if fate had planned it the barman didn’t blink an eye but carried on polishing his glasses and waited for whatever would happen.
Because happenstance had brought them all together at the same time and not one knew the other they began to look each other up and down strangely as they approached the bar together.
A ham sandwich on the bar top didn’t know where to put itself and so began crying like an old maid eating chicken and chips at the end of Blackpool pier after the tide has turned.
Not to be outdone by all this, a bottle of beer hidden at the back sang out: “Yippee! Let the good times roll,” and then fell over and went to sleep, its snoring so loud it woke up the dead who all began to moan.
Furthermore, when Johnny the hand heard about this he cancelled his trip to the engine room and dug out his best banjo and did a rendition of any old iron in D minor accompanied by an old sea dog, and with no one the wiser as to the outcome, the night’s festivities began.
A fine turned echo of everyone’s expectations danced naked under the hot lights and made all turn their heads in unison to stare in wonder at the beautiful image on stage ready to catch everyone's hearts.
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
A sharp knife of old tea leaves couldn’t help but exclaim at this and so was asked if another beer would be more appropriate, but as no answer was forthcoming was relegated to the back for the duration where it was too dark to see.
Scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours wouldn’t take no for an answer and so for the love of Mike began polishing the shoes of an innocent bystander who just happened to be there at that moment but soon wished he wasn’t and looked around for a quiet place to kneel and pray.
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
Outside in a reserved deck chair The Axe pulled all five hundred pounds of himself out of the chair and turned towards the noise that was hurting his ears with its audacious invitation to come in and flirt; and so taking out not one but two ear plugs he plugged himself in and went in to bruise a seat from someone only to find on this night there were no seats to be found.
Only the lonely became upset when the official news came that the inside of a moment was all it took to become a hero; but inertia held that from happening, and then leaning back into the shadows the decision was made to carry on doing nothing.
By now the ballroom was crowded but even so more people were pushing through the doors until it became so packed no one could move in any direction whatsoever, and this is when the lights went out and six feet of rope fell down from out of the rafters to land on the floor, and the call went up: “All hands to the pumps,” to which no one took any notice.
This of course caused a stir and a general milling about until a woman screamed, and when one goes off they all go off, and then it was bedlam.
The beat-bone beep, whose job it was to keep order was out to lunch and so couldn’t be relied upon for much at all. And then the lights came back on and the music started back up and everything was alright again, and the women stopped screaming too.
No one knew the lifeboats were being launched hush-hush and only the elite to board to escape.
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
Dirty gold, elf finger and the mad taxman were in a huddle where the corner used to be and buried up to their ears in debt relief, not that it made any difference, the bills kept coming and the repayments kept going up and everyone blamed the government but were too scared to do anything about it.
After an hour of whispering the huddle broke in deadlock so they decided to talk about climate change which was a new invention but knew nothing about it and so arrived at the same conclusion they always arrived at and that was they needed more surveys done to extrapolate the next course of action; but anyway it was a moot point with only them knowing of it, but the Indians were suing for their land back and that was something to get their teeth into.
One day at a time was living in the moment and as each moment went by became older moment by moment until all past moments were lost in the mists of time and thinking changed the way things were until an oxymoron was created from it all that paraphrased with momentously huge lips the excuses that came from living in time until the moment comes that will say: “that’s all folks and now it’s time to be timeless.” And then there will be much wailing and pulling of hair until all the breath is gone and not even a moment left to pack a suitcase.
So the moral must be: don’t think too much, or at all if you can help it unless you’re a writer, and even then.
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
“Watch out,” said the man scratching his head and starting fires in the minds of anyone watching him.
Ten women were in the crowd and soothing the brows and putting out the fires of many men who had nothing better to do than spontaneously combust in sympathy with their surroundings. The management were experienced and could afford it so no harm done.
Well you know how it goes by now...when time came, each of the party broke up and went to their beds to sleep it off wrapped up in the fingers of doom or perhaps the warm embrace of a loving partner, and one or two went to sleep alone. But this night was different: the ocean came to claim them and froze them down into its depths.
We will rust here forever until the end of time and then we will rust some more; and buried so deep we can but weep at our time cut too short.
In the darkness where fate has brought us and where no fish venture near, the silt of time buries us ever deeper while the minds of the men that created this must turn in their graves forever, and so perhaps some small measure of justice is served.
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
As to the destiny of an open book, it can be read right here in these pages to become the apple of the eye of any clay foot you can mention and then some between the sheets of all that’s been said.
But if you scratch your head too much you’ll wear your fingernails away and then you’ll have to have emollient cream to put out the fire.
Although the ship sank a long time ago and by now there are no survivors left, the ghosts of the ship still moan at their untimely end, but because they are buried so deep in the ocean no one ever hears them. So this is a little eulogy for them to say they are not forgotten and that their unjust deaths go un-avenged.
We have now arrived at the end of this instalment in your consciousness and so there is no use carrying on reading, unless you want to take notes that is, or know more, and if you do then there is always more to be known; but not in this post as now it is the end.
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
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