"The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter." --Winston Churchill
To their credit they keep at it. Hammering away at the foundations of all that is holy. Trying to boil us all down into that bland shit-pudding that they all love so much. Speaking in fragments and sentences made of words that don't exist, they love to abbreviate even when completely unnecessary. FUCK ANTHROPOLOGY. If language is defined by the people who speak it, I DON'T SPEAK. Each self aware man looks at his current state as worse than that what came before him. We all believe we will see the end of days in our lifetime. Humans like to put that much importance into their existence. We also love to give finality to things because eternity scares us. We want to see an end. Even fearing that end is better than not knowing one.
Even as I put my fist into stone and wood, I wonder. I wonder more than I should. I try to silence myself. The physical abuse is an avenue to silence, but the questions remain. This is nothing new. We are nothing new. People will always be what their masters instruct. We will only focus on what is important to us. Change is only when permitted by these things. If we are comfortable in dysfunction, what motivation is there to move out of it? Poke and prod all you like, the bear only moves when he becomes uneasy.
And why shouldn't he? What reason is there for any of it? At what point does self improvement really become masturbation? My mental state determines my actions and if I care to put my cane through your windshield, who are you to lecture me on what was appropriate? As always, I rail against those who tell me to calm down, to focus. What right do we have to any kind of democracy or representation of the common shithead? Why do I care to get to know my neighbor? My knowledge of him should be limited to his threat level of me and vice versa. If the entire world bought into the hippie bullshit that everyone seems to be peddling and we all lived in peace and harmony, my instinct tells me to commit the first murder of the pussy age. We are not passive creatures. We have made ourselves believe it to be. But it is not true. It never will be. Even when we are brains in jars, we will order our robots to kill the one who gives us shit. There is civil of course, but this is beyond civil. This is weak.
Bitch bitch bitch...
In a years time, things will be different than they are now. I will be different. But this throbbing headache will not go away. I will still stuff cotton in my mouth and attempt a smile. I will still swallow past the lump in my throat. I will still feel and think and hate. I will still beat my chest in frustration. I will still balk at others definitions of all things. Still laugh at their pain. Still give shitty advice. Still blow off the good and open arms accept the bad. Still love with the same intensity that I hate. Still feel that life boiling up inside me. Still find her utterly fascinating even after 10 years. Still fall on my face. Still yell at people in traffic. I will still be a melodramatic asshole. At least she loves me for it.
It shouldn't be surprising, but it doesn't stop it from being a source of apprehension leading to fear and right on into sadness. Grief for a child unborn, laden with guilt and struggling under the yoke of our sins.
