"Why hello there! So nice to see you!"
Who is this intruder of my quiet? What gives him the right to destroy my attempts at cool detatchment? My serene solitude? My last chance at peace? Fuck it, the divine moment has been ruined, never to return again. I am consumed by chaotic rage. I will impale my fist through his head and wave to the horrified on-lookers through his skull. Vengeance will be mine!
"Hello." I say.
"How are you today?"
I'm reading Ayn Rand and Charles Bukowski at the same time....a dangerous combination. I am cynical and insane and exhausted and wishing I was always somewhere else. And worst of all, idealistic.
"I'm well." I say. "How are you?" I say.
"I'm doing pretty good. Nice weather today, huh?"
I despise you. Not for who you are or what you do, but for what you represent. I hate myself for the same reason, because I am just as much a representative of this failed system as you are. Pretense, lies, hypocrisy, and ignorance are more than accepted, they have become requisite. Darkness reigns and we all name it light to make ourselves feel better. And to spare ourselves the immense effort of truth.
"It's a beautiful day." I say. "I heard it might rain on Thursday though." I say.
"Yeah, that's what I heard too. But the weekend looks good!"
Humanity is running on a treadmill in the hopes of actually reaching a destination. And the irony is that the destination has never existed in the first place. Samsara is the fate of those unenlightened souls who avoid pain or seek pleasure. Success is meaningless and accomplishment leads nowhere. The future is inevitable destruction.
"I'm looking forward to it." I say.
"Oh, me too. I've got to run though, or else I'll be late. Nice talking to you."
The endless oceans of fire are hotter than they have ever been. Always remember, Hell is other people. The flames are spreading faster and higher. The whole of the planet is burning with people. How much more can Mother Earth tolerate before she is incinerated? Perhaps this will be the end of the world.
"Goodbye." I say.
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6 comments:
I really am reading Ayn Rand and Charles Bukowski at the same time.
I have no idea what you are talking about.
That means you're weird.
If by weird you mean that I am unlike the average American, I take that as high praise.
I wish it were true.
No, I was referring to the weird where someone calls you weird after you say something that makes no sense to them. Why is weird used in that context? Is it an attempt by the other person to make an excuse for their ignorance by rationalizing verbally that the only reason the other person didn't make sense to them was because they're weird? How long has society been calling people weird in that context? I'm guessing all of my lifetime. I'll say since 1983.
But I digress...so you are weird, but you are also weird in the way that you want to be, so you can take it as high praise, which on its own level is kind of weird. Then again you were already weird, so me calling you weird is just restating the obvious. I suppose its like calling a beautiful girl 'pretty'. She's probably heard it a 1000 times, but it still feels good to hear it again. So basically you're like a pretty girl and I'm calling you beautiful.
My god, what the hell time is it? 5 a.m.? Note to self: Don't respond to Kevin's blog at 5 a.m.
The answer to your question is: since the time Socrates stared asking questions around ancient Greece.
And I would say that I am definitely weird in that context.
So I take it as high praise indeed.
So I was kind of right...it has been going on all of my lifetime...just not since 1983. Eh, close enough.
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