Hollow fly
Walking home through the cold streets of Dormium from an extremely long and mind numbing day at school, I felt my thick fat hair glued to my forehead starting to make things rather unbearable. The hollow anonimousities passing me by didn't even bother acknowledging my existence anymore, their lives being complete shit swarms of stress and business.
I didn't acknowledge them either, of course, for their significance is none in my world, other than working some farfetched bueracracy, which won't even need them in a couple of years. How am I suppose to empathize with such creatures? Creatures, who only serve as obstacles, both physically and philosophically; who priorize fucking conditioning candy over freedom; creatures, who do not even fathom the concept of empathy in itself.
Sounding like a school massacre.
Those who cannot love, should not love, nor should they pretend, nor should they live...
Perhaps I'm overreacting, and so I will refrain from making further comments on what should and what shouldn't be, but regardless of which, my anger remains true; a scorching fire keeping me alive from the inside...
So I just got home, 14:30, Goddamnit all to hell. Back from brown rise, my heart will go on, and a two hour session of mental prostitution. Normally, I would probably let it slide and just write a few short but witty cynical remarks, but things are different now. Things are better, and so the trivia becomes hell.
Things stabilize, unfortunately. This morning was out of this world.
I got into the shower in order to correct the hair issue only to find myself in an epic battle with a small fly. It wasn't until after a while of splashing small bursts of scolding hot water at my defenceless enemy, while watching it struggle to spread its wings, that I realized what it was that I was in fact doing. It made me laugh.
Think about it though, a giant creature of cosmic proportions is, while pondering life's questions, carelessly torturing and toying with you. Why? Because he has the POWER. He owns your life, and your only chance of survival is if he is in a great fucking mood.
I had had a shitty fucking day; the fly died.
I didn't feel sorry for it; I figured, that's the natural way of things, although secretly acknowledging the fact that there is no such thing as "natural". There is only satisfying the moral harmony within oneself, and guess what, a fly doesn't evoke empathy within me, for I do not see it as a part of my tribe.
Nor do I see the hollows in the streets as parts of my tribe.
Fuck?
adieu
I didn't acknowledge them either, of course, for their significance is none in my world, other than working some farfetched bueracracy, which won't even need them in a couple of years. How am I suppose to empathize with such creatures? Creatures, who only serve as obstacles, both physically and philosophically; who priorize fucking conditioning candy over freedom; creatures, who do not even fathom the concept of empathy in itself.
Sounding like a school massacre.
Those who cannot love, should not love, nor should they pretend, nor should they live...
Perhaps I'm overreacting, and so I will refrain from making further comments on what should and what shouldn't be, but regardless of which, my anger remains true; a scorching fire keeping me alive from the inside...
So I just got home, 14:30, Goddamnit all to hell. Back from brown rise, my heart will go on, and a two hour session of mental prostitution. Normally, I would probably let it slide and just write a few short but witty cynical remarks, but things are different now. Things are better, and so the trivia becomes hell.
Things stabilize, unfortunately. This morning was out of this world.
I got into the shower in order to correct the hair issue only to find myself in an epic battle with a small fly. It wasn't until after a while of splashing small bursts of scolding hot water at my defenceless enemy, while watching it struggle to spread its wings, that I realized what it was that I was in fact doing. It made me laugh.
Think about it though, a giant creature of cosmic proportions is, while pondering life's questions, carelessly torturing and toying with you. Why? Because he has the POWER. He owns your life, and your only chance of survival is if he is in a great fucking mood.
I had had a shitty fucking day; the fly died.
I didn't feel sorry for it; I figured, that's the natural way of things, although secretly acknowledging the fact that there is no such thing as "natural". There is only satisfying the moral harmony within oneself, and guess what, a fly doesn't evoke empathy within me, for I do not see it as a part of my tribe.
Nor do I see the hollows in the streets as parts of my tribe.
Fuck?
adieu
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