my account of a womans journey

Gold specks hover and buzz, forming outlines and trails. Somewhere in this mix between blue and grey and brown surroundings is a woman. I don't know her name, she sees fame as a disease. She's walking through a sandstorm, her black clothes brought alive by the scream of the wind. Leaning forward with her forearm shielding her face, she persists. I wonder, what is she doing here, why is she alone? I won't ask, I just watch. She's trudging, trudging, taking glorious glides, looking fiercer than ever. Steady in a straight line, her point of focus never wavers. Sand in the air form shapes and patterns beside her commanding her attention but she doesn't look. Her right arm is holding the black face veil in place, shielding her brown eyes while her left arm is straight in front of her, guiding her way.  She has no belongings, her clothes and her focus are her only companions. She keeps repeating something under her breath but I can't make it out. Its in a different language.

Silence dominates the dark night. It is pitch black apart from the buzzing gold dust forming a circle behind her. She pauses for a moment, arm transverse and knees bent. The sand stops midair for a moment like a swarm of flies then drops down.

'Come back, come back '

A soft voice massages the whole desert. The specks vibrate.

'That straight line will lead you nowhere. Stray off a little and come find me. You've gone for a while'

Through the blackness of her face cloth, her eyes wrinkle into rage and she screams a deafening scream. A rage of a lifetime of steadiness. A passionate desperate angry scream. Then she starts running. The wind blows opposite her direction and the pitch increases. The atmosphere forms a symphony with her exhalations and she picks up speed. Running, gliding, her feet barely touch the floor. The specks rise and desperately try to get her attention but she refuses even a glance. Faster and faster she goes until she is running in mid air. From afar, all that can be seen is a mass of black punching through a yellow universe. Like a shooting star, she gains velocity and heat until all that can be seen is a blur of her past existence, because her present is too fast to keep up with.
After a short while, she slows down and she reaches the end of the desert. When her feet touch the floor, I hear a crack. She collapses and sharply inhales, grabbing her leg. Resting her head on her knees, she breaks. Sobbing, desperate sighs consume her heart. It feels like someone is squeezing her heart, and twisting it and scratching it. An ugly face appears and tells her to give in. It says to her that there is nothing beyond the desert, and for a second she nearly believes it. It tells her to seek refuge in its darkness. She just wants the pain to go away, she says. But deep down she knows it doesn't guarantee her anything. So she shakes her head and tries to get up, but her leg can not hold the weight anymore and her heart is tired. Tired of the sadness and unbearable heat. So she crawls. Like a baby with no balance, she drags her clothes and her soul onwards, ignoring the ugly face. Her fingernails bend backwards and her knees become bloody, seeping through her shield, leaving a trail of red behind her. Leaving a mark of her hardship and a path for those behind her.

In the distance I can see two men walking towards her. They stand in front of her and pick her up. Head hanging, she lets them support her because her soul is fatigued. With shining faces and pearly eyes they blow on her face and a rush of fruit soothes her burnt face. One speaks telling her well done. The sound of his voice sends her brain into a calm serene state. The other strokes her cheek and her face glows. She laughs and laughs and laughs until she closes her eyes. Smiling, she is carried off into the distance and the desert is calm.  She exhales her last breath. I can see white specks decorating the dark. All is calm. The specks stay still but flash with energy. A little scorpion scuttles the floor of the area, hidden by night. The sand now quiet rests and forms bumps on the horizon, like fortresses protecting the inhabitants. The wind glides about back and forth trying to find a companion, but in the dead of the night it is lonely. It sings a slow melody causing grains to follow but nothing more. This is life.

On the other side of the desert is a woman.
My journey begins.

CONTROL AND POWER

The difference between the desire for control and the desire for power is an overlooked one. if oxford dictionary considers them synonyms then why should the lay public contradict this? Control seems to be the ability to move people about in accordance with your desires. It very heavily involves a person's own emotions, like a puppet master pulling the strings on his puppets to make them move a certain direction. It involves manipulation and small changes in body movement, much like control of other human beings. It involves subtle changes in the tone of your voice and facial expression which causes a tweak in the brain of the other person. They automatically agree with you, and even if they don't, the assumption is there that you are intellectually superior to them in all aspects, so they follow you anyway.you make them doubt their own intelligence because you know better.  An important aspect of a person in control is the lack of fear of them. They rule simply by intelligence and respect. There is one fear of those below them though, and that is the fear of being proven wrong and humiliated. Or the fear of being shunned by society.
Power however, relies very heavily on fear of pain and nonexistence. The person in power may also be in control, but there may or may not be respect involved. But somewhere down the chain of superiority is someone who gave this person weight. No doubt, many people in power are intelligent but paradoxically they may not completely be in control. Many times, it is the advisor who is pulling the strings. Someone weak but intelligent using the bravery of the dominant person. Their control is exerted through this beast in power. But they would be far too weak and self conscious to gain authority for themselves.

Every person desires control of those around him. Every person desires control of their own self more than anything. Then there would be no sadness. But ultimate control of ones thoughts and emotions then may also mean one risks losing happiness and all other emotions that make us human. If there are no surprises there are no spontaneous emotions. Everything is preplanned and known. We will become robots. But for some, this concept of control is enough to make them desire it.

experiment

I begin this because my mind is like one of those factories right at the beginning of the industrial revolution. All the gears and the smoke constantly working to create material that isn't really of great quality anyway. So perhaps my fingers can be the machinery and my mind can be the engine, and I can use this brain energy to produce something comprehendable and of use, a metaphorical car perhaps. I dont know. but it would be better than clouds of steam and smoke and left over energy being converted into heat, in my case this equates to spontaneous outbursts somewhat similar to bipolar disease. ANYWAYS, we shall see what comes of this... perhaps i will write a story... perhaps it will just remain a bank of my random thoughts.