Main Title:

Ex nihilo nihil fit in a Perennial Universe of Discourse Tacitly Delineated by the Exordium of Sorrow that Emeses from a Darkened Obscured Mind and a Subjugated Depressed Soul:

(Translation) Simplifying the Main Title)
From Nothing, Nothing is Produced in a Continuous Universe of Conversation with Silent Rationality Scribbled by the Beginning of Sorrow that Spews Forth from a Concealed Mind and Subdued Depressed Soul:

On October 21st, I turned 44 years old.  I had no problem with the turning of the age.  However I had come to my mind the regret of two things.  The first, that I didn\'t die the night I was shot in the back walking home from work when I was 23.  The second.  That I had kept all the promises I had made except for the one I made to myself.

Some might say that breaking that promise was ok for me to do, acceptable.  Others may say I chickened out and fear ripped through me.  Either way neither affects me for what they would say.  I don\'t listen to the reasonings of others when it comes to my own well being or not well being.  

Going back to the being 23 part and not dying, I dont think I could be anymore honest then that. I layed there on the ground on the 2nd night of February, not feeling the chill in the air.  I was numb.  Life was flowing away from me and I was at peace with this.  However, everything seemed to fall into place to make sure I would not become a statistic.  

After that, having so much time to think about things I convinced myself that I was suppose to survive.  I was to continue walking the earth for some unknown reason that had not been told to me, and when I came to the decision I was to remain alive, the promise I made to myself one night while I laid in bed letting liquescent mosaic memories seep from my combustible pyrolysis mind.  Once the idea of ending life before I reached an age that I would not be content with.  My life became a placid.  I realy no longer was living.  It was like staring in a mirror, though your eyes see the reflection, the reflection does not see you.  Because the eyes of your reflection are dead behind the pupils. I now wish the eyes I look through were dead behind the pupils. 

I know if I had gone through with the demise of myself I would have been successful.  I would have taken the correct amount of medication that would have been washed down with the correct amount of alcohal and I would have laid down and waited.

I would have waited for my heart to start slowing down, my breathing would have started to become shallow.  I would have been laying there feeling as if the weight of a thousand bricks were upon me.  With all this going on at the same time I would have just kept my eyes close and tried to block whatever memories came rushing forward from a darken subconcious.  Then eventually like my subconcious.  All would have gone dark and I would be gone.

Nevertheless I didnt do that.  I broke my promise to myself because of an idea that maybe I was here on this earth with a purpose.  However as I sit here writing this, I can honestly say I have not found the purpose and lack the energy to march forward.  I will not medio tutissimus ibis (go most safely by the middle). 

Now at 44, the time has passed to carry out the promise I broke.  If only there was a way to turn the hour glass over to restart the time that was lost.  However no one can live on wishful thinking. 

Unless I could manage to find a black hole on the outskirts of the universe and could sling myself back in time before the blackhole stretched me to the point I am ripped apart.  I have to keep the cards that were delt to me.  and its stud. What you have is what you have and if you dont have anything to win with.  Then again you will lose.  As I have lost most my life.  I can only hope that when I do decide to look at the cards.  My hand will be Ace\'s and Eights.

R.L Arocha.

1:19am November 1st, 2009:

Copywritten: StoneCross Writing Unlimited:

Registered Trademark: StoneCross/Saqqara Ltd. 1978 – 2009:

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