What is the point I wonder

I wonder sometimes what is the point. I have talent I have a good brain I write more meaningful words than appear in a multitude of newspapers, I periodically email journalist then give up what is the point. Someone emailed me once saying please unsubscribe. She might as well have said, I don't want to think I just want to protect my income.

Journalist protect their livelihood in a world where incomes are dropping people aren't really interested in creativity, in original thinking, why think why write, why imagine, in a world where people are desperate to earn a living, desperate to provide the newest and greatest to their beloved, what is the point in talent.

No one really cares, no ones really wants it. What is the point I wonder.

The Streets of London

Early in the morning I rise and wonder the streets of London. I look to the skies and see the myriad of birds which have risen with me exploiting niches around the every present ape. Life is resilient it searches for another way to exist and persist and it will long after we are gone. We do not yet have the power of the stars so we can destroy ourselves but not all life.

Also in the early hours you understand a little of the city. The immigrants rise and work, they catch the early buses. You can distinguish them from their serious faces, focused on the basics of life unlike the more frivolous natives. So we have created a social system that benefits some, but our city, our great city cannot exist without vast numbers of immigrants perhaps working for less than the minimum wage, many indisputably working in the black market. Like all great cities through the ages it is a magnet for those searching.

They look at me a stranger in amongst them, but massively dependent on them. So in an over populated world, the people are ultimately exploited, unions help, laws help, but there are too many people, too many desperate people and they will be exploited. The only solution is a massive change in attitudes to child birth and control across the planet. The number of young available people drops on a huge scale and salaries and living standards will explode for the poorest. The rich and upper classes would suffer, but the poor would only benefit.

The Meloncholy It comes

I feel my talent, it breaths within me, it stares out of the mirror, it is closer when I read a newspaper, when I turn on the TV I cannot avoid it, talent, yet I hate it so. I understand, I see, I can calculate, I can fathom, yet for all that failure seems to swamp me.

I wish I had no talent, nothing why have it when the world seems so unappreciative, when other qualities are valued more.

The tears they flow sometimes why, oh why I wonder why do you torture me so... give me so much potential and so much failure.