It is said that in his fear, he shook like the reflection of the moon over rushing water.
And for good reason, he trembled in the night. For his beloved father, stepmother, and wife—all these tender and dear to him would die. His best friend and cousin would also perish. Even his little boy would not be spared.

He agonized over the end of all things. The memories, the joy, the companionship of all who he loved and loved him—these souls would vanish in sickness and death like the flash of a pan.

For all his wealth, his esteem, his unrivaled wit—he was powerless in the knowledge of their eminent doom. Life was a riot of chaotic episodes of fleeting laughs and tender moments giving way to the march of mortal finality—and rich and poor were content to have it so.

But he was not content. Not happy to watch those he cherished so dearly wither into the void like meaningless drops of rain in the ocean to be lost to him forever. He would fight it. With every fibre in his heart, he would find a way to stop their eminent demise. With every bit of strength in he could muster he knew he had stop their journey to this death.

Optimism is but hope and a delusion.
Pain seeps through the fabric of every life,
Action is the course to stopping this sad procession,
Siddhartha crept out of his palace like the calm mist of morning, following his clarion call to save his son, his wife, his father, and me.

.
[Edited 8/22/05 19:06pm]

I'm good at being serious, huh?

I'm good at being serious, huh?

althom said:

think of it as an analogy for your photographic career, doomed to wither into nothingness.

Imago777 said:

No....that's my sex life.

althom said:

Perhaps you should combine the two.


orgnote me.

wow.

SammiJ said:

U likey likey?

ImagoMind777 said:

i did
it was sad tho
but very very good

do u write often?

SammiJ said:

Only when I'm naked.

ImagoMind777 said:

which is prolly often then

so many speak of the moon as though it has no flaws

I can't help but think...



Interesting, ImagoMan....

I picture you saying that with bedroom eyes. :swoon:

SammiJ said:

I want to write a book.
I'd really like to write a story on the buddha, though I don't want it to be a religious story as much as a human one.

It just seems that I have a hard time commiting time to it. And learning how to write.

ImagoMind777 said:

keep doing it seriously...
i'd buy your book
the way u write, it's very poetic...has a nice flow 2 it

Where's the rest of it?





Seriously though, I like the way you look. I don't like the way you spell, but that's more about my own personal demons than anything. But I digress, everything you write is of interest to me. Do try to find the time to write a book, even if it's a very slow process with all your work commitments and stuff.

Where's the rest of it?





Seriously though, I like the way you write. I don't like the way you smell, but that's more about my own personal demons than anything. But I digress, everything you write is of interest to me. Do try to find the time to write a book, even if it's a very slow process with all your work commitments and stuff.
[Edited 8/23/05 5:02am]

Fauxie said:

Fauxie said:

That's my scent woman.


Learn it!



[Edited 8/23/05 5:09am]

It is said that in his fear, he shook like the reflection of the moon over rushing water.
And for good reason, he trembled in the night. For his beloved father, stepmother, and wife—all these tender and dear to him would die. His best friend and cousin would also perish. Even his little boy would not be spared.

He agonized over the end of all things. The memories, the joy, the companionship of all who he loved and loved him—these souls would vanish in sickness and death like the flash of a pan.

For all his wealth, his esteem, his unrivaled wit—he was powerless in the knowledge of their eminent doom. Life was a riot of chaotic episodes of fleeting laughs and tender moments giving way to the march of mortal finality—and rich and poor were content to have it so.

But he was not content. Not happy to watch those he cherished so dearly wither into the void like meaningless drops of rain in the ocean to be lost to him forever. He would fight it. With every fibre in his heart, he would find a way to stop their eminent demise. With every bit of strength in he could muster he knew he had to end their journey to this death.

Optimism is but hope and a delusion.
Pain seeps through the fabric of every life,
Action is the course to stopping this sad procession,
Siddhartha crept out of his palace like the calm mist of morning, following his clarion call to save his son, his wife, his father, and me.

.
[Edited 8/22/05 20:35pm]