Date: August 14, 2024
Random Thoughts (nadav_rock_2)
When all the printing and the borrowing and the shenanigans are maxed out to an extent that bankrupts nations only the most sound money will remain
In a world where the sun fades to gray, Where the value of paper has crumbled away, A warrior arose from the ashes of gold, In a suit of wealth, his story unfolds. He gathered his riches, now barren and dry, The coins that once glittered beneath a clear sky. With hands that were steady, he forged them with care, Into armor that shimmered, beyond all compare. In this desolate land where the past is a ghost, The wealthy now wandered, their spirits engrossed. Each clad in their fortune, a shield and a sword, They battled for wealth, for gold’s final hoard. The warrior walked tall, his gold as his skin, In search of more riches, the next fight to win. For in this new world, only one law remained: The stronger your armor, the more you had gained. But battles grew fiercer, the stakes ever high, As each duel was fought beneath a darkening sky. The armor absorbed what the loser had worn, Till the victor stood stronger, the other forlorn. Yet, with each heavy step, the warrior knew, That all fortune is fleeting, a dream never true. For the gold on his back, though it glittered and shined, Was a weight on his soul, a chain on his mind. In the end, when the world had been stripped of its worth, And the gold-laden warriors returned to the earth, He stood at the edge, where the winds did not cease, And whispered to nothing, in search of release. All fortune is imaginary, he came to confess, For the strongest of wealth cannot ease the distress. When the dust finally settles, and the battles are done, Only the soundest of truth will outlast the sun. The warrior fell silent, his armor grew cold, As he gazed at the ruins, once glittering gold. For in the end, when all riches are drained, It’s the soul’s final worth that will always remain.
Date: August 13, 2024
Random Thoughts (nadav_rock_2)
The fate of a warrior is determined in his training
In a world where shadows dance with flame, A child was born with neither wealth nor name, But in his hand, a sword of light did gleam, Forged by ancients, born from a dream. This sword, a tool of might untold, Its power not in strength, but courage bold, For only those with calm and focus clear, Could wield its magic without fear. The child, though young, was chosen to bear, This blade of light, this burden rare, But to harness its strength, to master the art, He needed more than just a brave heart. To the mountains of fire, where demons dwell, He ventured forth, through heaven and hell, There he faced beasts of night and flame, Riding their fury, taming their claim. With every ride on those monstrous steeds,He honed his focus, planted his seeds, Of calm in chaos, of stillness in strife, Shaping his spirit, molding his life. Through countless trials, through endless pain, He learned that strength was not in vain, But in the peace that training brings, In the discipline of warriors, in the calm of kings. For every battle, every fight he fought, Was won before it even was sought, In the hours of practice, in the nights of sweat, In the moments of doubt, in the times he'd fret. When armies came, with swords ablaze, He stood alone, in a quiet daze, With a single swing, the battle was done, For his true victory had long been won. In his heart, he knew the ancient truth, That fate is forged in the fires of youth, For all battles are but the end of a path, Of training, of discipline, of a warrior’s wrath. And so the child, now a legend told, Became a tale of courage bold, For he knew, as all great warriors do, The fate of the battle is shaped by you. Not in the heat of the fray, but in the days before, When you train your mind and soul to soar, For all battles are competitions of training's hold, And in that crucible, true strength is molded and told.
Date: August 12, 2024
Random Thoughts (nadav_rock_2)
It is here at the edge of the cliff where courage counts
In a world that’s flat with two sharp ends, Where every path bends and finally descends, One edge brings life, the other brings demise, Yet no one recalls what meets their eyes. The Creator stands at one world’s brink, A place where thoughts are forged with ink, With power to build what hearts conceive, To make something new, to help believe. The Destroyer waits at the opposite side, A force that takes what can't be denied, With a touch that burns what’s held most dear, Turning dreams to dust, feeding fear. A traveler set out, courage in hand, Not knowing where his fate might land, Each step a choice, each breath a prayer, On the edge of the cliff, in the thinning air. His heart desired something profound, But fear within began to pound, For he knew not which edge he’d face, Where his hopes might find their place. Would he speak to the Creator’s ear? Or meet the Destroyer’s face with fear? To stand so close to all he sought, Yet risk losing everything he’d brought. With trembling lips, he opened his soul, His voice unsteady, but his goal was whole, For courage is not the absence of fright, But standing firm in the darkest night. He spoke his truth, without regret, Not knowing what he might beget, The cliff beneath him seemed to sway, But he held on, come what may. The world did not answer with a roar, But a silent shift in the earth’s core, He found himself at the edge of the world, Where life and death both unfurled. He remembered not what he saw that day, But knew that he had found his way, For in the place where the two edges meet, It’s courage that keeps the heart’s beat. And so he learned, as the story ends, All life is lived where the cliff descends, It’s there, at the edge, where courage counts, Where fear is faced, and the soul surmounts.
Date: August 11, 2024
Random Thoughts (nadav_rock_2)
The most important switch in the world is the off switch bitcoin doesn’t have
In a time of old, where shadows lay, An alchemist worked both night and day. He sought the gold, the fabled key, To turn the world to prosperity. His hands grew weak, his breath turned thin, As age crept in, beneath his skin. Desperate to extend his quest, He turned to metal, left the rest. With gears for bones and wires for veins, He shed his flesh, escaped life’s chains. Piece by piece, his form transformed, A machine with a mind, to gold conformed. His heart was cold, his pulse was steel, His only thought, the gold to feel. He lost his name, his human grace, And found himself in a golden chase. For years he roamed, an endless path, Turning all to gold in his wrath. The quest complete, yet joy was lost, For freedom came at a heavy cost. He touched the earth, the sky, the sea, But all turned gold, no life to see. For no one could halt his endless run, No switch to flip, no setting sun. Yet in his march, a truth unfurled, Sometimes a gift can change the world. For though no one could make him cease, His work brought neither pain nor peace. The off switch gone, the world transformed, In gilded beauty, the machine performed. For in the freedom of endless strive, There was a spark, a gleaming drive. In a world where nothing stops the flow, Sometimes it’s best to let it grow. For not all chains should bind the heart, And some machines must never part. The golden touch, though cold and vast, Proved there are choices meant to last. For in a world where freedom sings, There’s no need for an end to things. So he roams, without regret, In golden dreams, his fate is set.For some switches, once removed, Are the keys to what can’t be improved.
Date: August 10, 2024
Random Thoughts (nadav_rock_2)
When you’re good on the inside you don’t feel the need to tell anybody else how they’re messed up
In a village hidden deep in the wood, A tale of music and courage once stood, A magical guitar lay silent and still, But those who played it found a devil's thrill. With every strum, the strings would ignite, Summoning a demon cloaked in the night, His form was fierce, his eyes aflame, But his gift was music, not sorrow or shame. He wasn’t evil, though he seemed so dark, A misunderstood soul with a fiery spark, The villagers feared him, kept him at bay, But one brave heart chose to sit and play. As the strings hummed with a haunting tune, The devil appeared under the silver moon, But the player, unafraid, saw past the guise, And in the devil’s eyes, found no disguise. The less they feared, the closer they drew, Embracing the demon as the music grew, For with each note, the gift was revealed, A talent unmatched, a power unsealed. The village watched as the player excelled, Their melodies pure, as their fear dispelled, For in that embrace, a truth was told, A pure heart cannot create evil, only gold. As days turned to nights, and nights into days, The music grew stronger in wondrous ways, For the devil, once feared, was now a friend, His inspiration a means, not an end. And so the player played without disdain, While others looked on with guilt and pain, For they saw in their hearts what they’d once denied, That evil exists when goodness is defied. The tale concludes with a lasting truth, One that echoes through age and youth, When you’re good on the inside, you see it clear, Negativity fades, and there’s nothing to fear. So remember this story when you feel adrift, The devil’s not evil, his form a gift, The more you embrace, the more you’ll uplift, And in that harmony, your soul will shift.
Date: August 9, 2024
painting (nadav_rock_2)
Ember Wishes
In the heart of a forest deep,Where shadows dance and secrets keep,Lies a lake of twilight's grace, A mystical, enchanting place. Here, where moonlight softly gleams, People come with whispered dreams. They fold their hopes in paper white, And set them sailing in the night. Upon the water, flames arise, Turning wishes to the skies. Each note is kissed by fire’s light, Yet one survives the burning rite. A spirit cloaked in leaves and flame, With eyes that know each whispered name, Reaches out with gentle care, To claim the wish still floating there. Through the years, the stories say, This guardian grants one wish each day. The chosen note, unburned, unscathed, Is plucked from where the fire bathed. A child’s plea for joy and peace, A lover’s hope that time might cease, A lost soul’s cry for light to mend, The spirit listens, a faithful friend. The lake then sighs, the flames subside, The spirit fades back with the tide. Another wish fulfilled at last, The present meets the future past. And so the legend gently grows, Where the ember’s glow softly flows. In "Ember Wishes," dreams ignite, Guided by the guardian’s light.
Date: August 9, 2024
Random Thoughts (nadav_rock_2)
When you cling to the good and cringe from the bad you become a punching bag. At the whims of the wind. Constantly praying for another day without a storm. When you let go of the good and seek the bad to become stronger. You become the storm
In a world where storms rage wild and free, Where winds howl loud and skies decree, No peace, no calm, just endless night, A tale begins, of strength and might. The people hid, in fear they cowered, From thunder's roar and rain that showered. They prayed for peace, for storms to cease, But found no rest, no sweet release. Until one day, a soul arose, A heart of fire, in stormy throes. No fear of dark, no dread of rain, They walked with calm through endless pain. Into the storm, they ventured deep, Where shadows twist and tempests weep. They faced the winds, the biting cold, Their spirit fierce, their courage bold. They sought not peace, nor safety’s shore, But strength within, and something more. They welcomed pain, embraced the night, And found their power in the fight. The storm, it raged, it tried to break, This soul of steel, this heart awake. But with each gust, they stood their ground, Their calm a shield, no fear was found. They stirred the storm, they bent the air, With steady hand and steady stare. The winds obeyed, the lightning bowed, The thunder’s roar became a vow. No longer prey, no longer frail, They led the storm, their guiding gale. And as they danced with nature’s might, They were consumed, but shone so bright. In final breath, they whispered low, To seek the strength, and let fear go. For those who fear, the storm will chase, But those who fight, will find their place. So in the land where tempests form, One heart became the very storm. Their calm, a force the storm now knew, In every wind, their spirit flew. And in that world, where storms once reigned, A new strength rose, from where they’d strained. For now they knew, the truth of harm, Make the storm fear your endless calm.
Date: August 8, 2024
Random Thoughts (nadav_rock_2)
Goggins made me realize hard men don’t hope its nearly over
Beneath the moon's cold, ghostly light, They rise each eve, prepared to fight, From ocean's depths, where shadows creep, The spirits wake from ancient sleep. No place is safe, no walls too high, For every night, the spirits try, To claim the living, drag them deep, Into the sea where lost souls weep. Villagers build their walls of stone, But fear within their hearts has grown, They hope and pray the end is near, But know the spirits have no fear. Each night they come, with greater force, Their vengeance takes a darker course, No matter where the walls are laid, The spirits strike, and all are afraid. But in this endless war they wage, The living learn on every stage, That hoping for an end to near, Is but a source of needless fear. For the spirits thrive on those who dread, Who wish the final fight ahead, They feed on hopes of those who tire, And stoke the flames of their desire. So the living learned to let it go, The dream of peace, the end of woe, To fight each night as if their last, And leave all hope within the past. There is no line, no final gate, No finish where the end does wait, The spirits taught this lesson well, In battles where the brave now dwell. And so they fight, with strength untold, Not hoping for an end to hold, But knowing in the darkest night, The true strength lies in endless fight. For those who live without the hope, Embrace the tide and learn to cope, They find the power deep inside, To face the waves, to turn the tide. There is no finish, no last call, The spirits know, they see it all, But in the endless, ceaseless strife, The living find the strength of life.
Date: August 7, 2024
Random Thoughts (nadav_rock_2)
Our legs and our will were the primary means we were engineered with to survive lions and monsters. We must practice them less our mind be deluded with a false feeling of safety
In a realm where shadows dance and gleam, Lies a race of spirits, chasing a dream. No finish line marks their endless track, For in the living world, some must go back. Only so many can cross the veil, One spirit enters as another must sail. Through ethereal winds, they run and strive, To find a place where they can feel alive. Among these souls, a legend is told, Of a spirit named Lyra, brave and bold. Her will was strong, her heart ablaze, In the spectral race, she led the chase. She ran with the grace of ancient times, Her legs, her will, her only chimes. Through fields of stardust, past moons of gold, Her story, a saga, a tale retold. The living world was her distant goal, Where she’d find peace for her wandering soul. But the path was fraught with trials severe, With lions and monsters, she had to persevere. Each step she took, a test of might, In the realm of shadows, void of light. Her legs, her will, her means to survive, In the ancient race to stay alive. Other spirits faltered, their hopes did wane, But Lyra pushed through the endless strain. For she knew well, as did the old lore, To stop was to lose, to run was to soar. In the heart of the race, a rival appeared, A spirit of darkness, whom others feared. Their duel was fierce, their battle grand, A test of endurance, spirit, and hand. Through forests of whispers, over mountains of mist, They ran side by side, their fates intertwined, twist by twist. Lyra’s breath grew shallow, her vision blurred, But she pressed on, undeterred. Her rival stumbled, weary and spent, As Lyra surged forward, her energy unbent. She crossed the veil as another left, Entering the world, her heart no longer bereft. In the living realm, she found her place, Her journey remembered, her eternal race. For in running, she found life’s pure essence, Her legs and will, her true presence. In this tale, we see our own reflection, Our ancient need for movement, our primal connection. We run to live, to feel, to be, In every step, in every breath, we are free. So remember Lyra, and her endless run, Her race in the shadows, under the spectral sun. For in her story, we find our might, Our legs and will, our guiding light.
Date: August 6, 2024
Random Thoughts (nadav_rock_2)
People who don’t run can’t possibly conceive the levels of anguish one can achieve by accidently pushing beyond what they thought was possible
Upon the coals, two warriors ran, Pushing limits, as only rivals can. The heat below their feet did rise, As flames reflected in their eyes. One of two rivals, each a fierce knight, Ran on burning coals, through day and night. The longer they ran, the stronger they'd be, Gaining power from the flames' decree. Their world was forged in fiery trial, Each step, each breath, a test of guile. With every mile, their spirits soared, For in this pain, new strength was stored. They’d fall from the coals to the world of men, To find each other, and fight again. With blades that clashed and spirits bright, They battled fiercely, day and night. Once they fell, their bodies tired, Their souls returned to the coals, inspired. For death was but a fleeting state, Their purpose clear, their rivals' fate. In the flames, they found their might, In the searing pain, their spirits’ light. Most can't conceive such levels of pain, But through this fire, true strength they gain. Through anguish deep, beyond what’s known, They pushed beyond, their limits shown. For only those who dare to tread, On paths of fire, where others dread, Can find the strength they never knew, In burning coals, their power grew. The fate of a warrior, determined in strife, raining in flames, for an eternal life. So on they ran, in endless race, With power and pain they’d embrace. Each run, each fall, each fierce fight, Forging their spirits, burning bright. Their entire purpose, to best their foe, In a cycle of flames, they’d always know. For in the fire, their strength was earned, A warrior’s fate, through training, learned.
