The Filth in our Stars #WritingCommunity

time lapse photography of mountain
Photo by Samir Belhamra @Grafixart_photo on

Am I made of dirt or stars?

I have my head caught in the stars searching for a meaning to everything thinking… thinking… thinking.

My mind is incapable of conceptualizing that which brought me to this earthly plane, yet still I think about it and wonder.

As if the harder I think the closer I will come to understanding.  It is the full-on deceit of my Ego to believe that I can identify the stars in the nothingness of space, put names to them and then find my place.

It is my hubris that drives me insane looking for meaning in a void of meaningless filth.

Thinking; of course how much money I have matters.

Of course how many people find me important matters.

Of course, the car I drive matters and the house I buy matters.

Its a matter of matter isn’t it.  It matters there for it matters in this mater filled existence.

But, how much time do I spend in the nothing, how many days, weeks and hours are poured into the nothing hoping to achieve something?

That is the playground I find myself in for one reason or another I have chosen to focus on the nothing and say good riddance to the something.

I always wondered why I had an aversion to things, to form and definition.  As soon as a label is placed the thing that was once limitless becomes strictly a mug used for coffee.

We are voidless seed filled dark.  Nothing aside from the life that we breath each day can tear us apart.

We need to see beyond into a place of calm, a place with safety to keep us from harm.

We need the boundries because they hold us together, the tether that we need binds tight

and the thoughts that we use to define the existence that we live, expound into nothingness

gone they went.

Its a fortunate life to lead into the darkness no fear in heart.  The blindness of man tore at my heart.

I wanted to see the inversion of soul of bringing together all that we hold.

It means nothing for its worthless in the end, because the end isn’t real it always starts again.



Published by Matthew Whiteside

I am a writer, a storyteller, a yarn-spinning freakazoid. My life is full of two things today, lessons and blessings. I write fiction mostly but I also love to write about my life and the things I go through on a daily basis. Writing it out inspires and motivates me and that's why I do it. Plus if it does that for me maybe it will for someone else too.

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