I am getting old. I am getting weak. And there will be no one to follow me. Perhaps, it's for the best.
My eyes are getting sunken. And I can't lift my arms at the rate required to do even the most simple, mundane task.There was a time when people like me were revered. Celebrated. Treated like kings. And then for a time, like gods.
I won't miss it once it's all gone, I don't miss what has already left. The pressure to be godlike is left for the true gods. Maybe, that's proof that there are no true gods. I never see any of them around.
I am alone now, left with the task to leave nothing of us behind. To allow us to be forgotten. To allow the world to move on as if we never were. I was a moment, and the moment has passed.
What we gave the world, the world could take from anyone. What we were to people was and always will be; trivial. We are sorry for wasting your time. We are glad you learned your lesson.
Now leave me in peace. I will bother you no more with my manipulations.
I am old. I am weak. No one has followed me. It is for the best.
Sunday, 24 March 2013
Saturday, 23 March 2013
When we imagine metaphor.
While she was walking down the street, she couldn't think about anything else, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't help herself from imagining all the buildings around her exploding in various ways. It wasn't malicious, perhaps this was an actual by-product of too many movies. She wished no violence or pain towards anyone. But she wanted to see the buildings blow up. And she wanted to run dramatically away from them as they exploded.
Life was getting pretty fucking boring. To say the least.
More and more as each day continued, she was beginning to hate everyone and everything. The little joys in life weren't filling the holes in her life as much as they used to. Not that she ever had many little joys to begin with. She hated animals, she hated children, she hated sex, she hated alcohol, she hated most conversations with other human beings. She hated the little things. And she couldn't for the life of her. Figure out what the hell the big things in life were supposed to be.
What are the big things in life supposed to be?
It was becoming disturbingly clear that life for most people was an amalgamation of a whole bunch of little things. With the occasional big sad thing mixed in there, only to get back to the little things as quickly as possible.
Her little thing was imagining buildings exploding.
She didn't know how to make it better, and she didn't know who to ask. Like most people that are slightly above average, but lack motivation to do things in life. She only had average people in her life to ask. And they all just wanted her to be average. There were no answers there. And no matter how many inspirational quotes she read or heard. She couldn't find it in herself.
Except when she was imagining buildings exploding.
When she was imagining buildings exploding, she felt as if she was capable of anything.
She is capable of anything. She just needs to find that in herself.
Life was getting pretty fucking boring. To say the least.
More and more as each day continued, she was beginning to hate everyone and everything. The little joys in life weren't filling the holes in her life as much as they used to. Not that she ever had many little joys to begin with. She hated animals, she hated children, she hated sex, she hated alcohol, she hated most conversations with other human beings. She hated the little things. And she couldn't for the life of her. Figure out what the hell the big things in life were supposed to be.
What are the big things in life supposed to be?
It was becoming disturbingly clear that life for most people was an amalgamation of a whole bunch of little things. With the occasional big sad thing mixed in there, only to get back to the little things as quickly as possible.
Her little thing was imagining buildings exploding.
She didn't know how to make it better, and she didn't know who to ask. Like most people that are slightly above average, but lack motivation to do things in life. She only had average people in her life to ask. And they all just wanted her to be average. There were no answers there. And no matter how many inspirational quotes she read or heard. She couldn't find it in herself.
Except when she was imagining buildings exploding.
When she was imagining buildings exploding, she felt as if she was capable of anything.
She is capable of anything. She just needs to find that in herself.
Friday, 22 March 2013
Hands and Feet
He had little hands, but that was okay. Because he had little feet. It was okay that he had little hands and feet because he was little, and it was okay that he was little. Because he was supposed to be little. Because he was five.
He was average for five year old. And when people called him little, he would let them know that he wasn't. And that he was average for a five year old. He knew, because his mom had told him he was. She wouldn't lie to him.
She wasn't lying.
He liked to play outside. He like playing tag, or ball tag, or frozen tag, or hide and seek tag, or crouching tag, or kick the can, or water guns, or sprinklers, or fake guns, or nerf guns. He like to play all these things outside. Or inside in winter, if he could. Water guns he only got away with once. Worth it.
He only had one friend to play with though, and that was okay. His friend was Don. Don was a good friend. They would play anything together. They were best friends.
They had so many toys, but it was like there parents knew what they each had, so never got them the same toy.
They did know what each had. And they never got them the same toy.
He would go over to Don's house, or Don to his. Or they would play in the park, because there was a park between their houses, so they would play there. Sometimes he would be late coming home from Don's because he would be having so much fun, he would lose track of time. That was okay though, because his parents always knew where he was. Because he only had one friend.
They would play and play. And it didn't matter that his hands and feet were little. Because Don's were too.
And they were happy.
He was average for five year old. And when people called him little, he would let them know that he wasn't. And that he was average for a five year old. He knew, because his mom had told him he was. She wouldn't lie to him.
She wasn't lying.
He liked to play outside. He like playing tag, or ball tag, or frozen tag, or hide and seek tag, or crouching tag, or kick the can, or water guns, or sprinklers, or fake guns, or nerf guns. He like to play all these things outside. Or inside in winter, if he could. Water guns he only got away with once. Worth it.
He only had one friend to play with though, and that was okay. His friend was Don. Don was a good friend. They would play anything together. They were best friends.
They had so many toys, but it was like there parents knew what they each had, so never got them the same toy.
They did know what each had. And they never got them the same toy.
He would go over to Don's house, or Don to his. Or they would play in the park, because there was a park between their houses, so they would play there. Sometimes he would be late coming home from Don's because he would be having so much fun, he would lose track of time. That was okay though, because his parents always knew where he was. Because he only had one friend.
They would play and play. And it didn't matter that his hands and feet were little. Because Don's were too.
And they were happy.
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
The Lady.
It wasn't that she was beautiful, though she was. It wasn't that she was smart, though she was. It wasn't that she had charm, though she did. It was that at the end of the day, she was evil. And she had three tools that made it easy to be evil with.
Beauty, Intelligence and Charm.
She was so beautiful, it was not the first thing that you noticed about her. She was so smart, you never actually found out that she was. And she was so charming, you didn't know you would do anything for her, until you had done it.
She could walk in to a room and get anyone to do anything after five minutes of talking. Let me be clear, she did not use her sexuality. In fact, there was something asexual about her whole approach. As if she was giving off some pheromone that made one a complete slave to her will. She made one feel satisfied in receiving nothing in return. The last thought anyone would have about her, would be her sexuality. The only thought on ones mind around her, would be how to satisfy her. And it was on seldom occasions her satisfaction involved sex.
She received the adoration from all those around her, save no exception. If there is an exception to every rule, the saying only proves that she was, in fact, beyond rules.
With her immense power over others, she never used them for good. She would convince men and women to commit suicide after slowly taking away everything that made their individual lives worth living. Only about twenty or so lives really, after twenty she got bored of it.
She would convince people to rob banks, or get into fights or destroy marriages and careers. No one fully knew why they were doing these horrible things. It would be as if a ghost had whisked through the world, and made it a little worse. Or a lot worse. Depending on the day..
After a lifetime of mischief, she died. Thousands gathered to her funeral. All of them weeping, feeling a great loss in their lives. She was adored by all, from every corner of the earth.
It is safe to say. No one really knew her.
Beauty, Intelligence and Charm.
She was so beautiful, it was not the first thing that you noticed about her. She was so smart, you never actually found out that she was. And she was so charming, you didn't know you would do anything for her, until you had done it.
She could walk in to a room and get anyone to do anything after five minutes of talking. Let me be clear, she did not use her sexuality. In fact, there was something asexual about her whole approach. As if she was giving off some pheromone that made one a complete slave to her will. She made one feel satisfied in receiving nothing in return. The last thought anyone would have about her, would be her sexuality. The only thought on ones mind around her, would be how to satisfy her. And it was on seldom occasions her satisfaction involved sex.
She received the adoration from all those around her, save no exception. If there is an exception to every rule, the saying only proves that she was, in fact, beyond rules.
With her immense power over others, she never used them for good. She would convince men and women to commit suicide after slowly taking away everything that made their individual lives worth living. Only about twenty or so lives really, after twenty she got bored of it.
She would convince people to rob banks, or get into fights or destroy marriages and careers. No one fully knew why they were doing these horrible things. It would be as if a ghost had whisked through the world, and made it a little worse. Or a lot worse. Depending on the day..
After a lifetime of mischief, she died. Thousands gathered to her funeral. All of them weeping, feeling a great loss in their lives. She was adored by all, from every corner of the earth.
It is safe to say. No one really knew her.
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
The Power of Dreams.
I just couldn't shake the feeling that I was going to get into a whole bunch of trouble that day. You know the kind of day where you had a dream during the night, and that dream sets your mood for the rest of the day? It was like that, except I couldn't remember the dream. Which made it worse, because it felt like if I could remember my dream, the bad stuff wasn't going to happen to me. But if I didn't remember, something bad would happen. And it would all be my fault. You know?
So I get up, and I'm tired, I mean like, really tired. And then I'm stuck in front of the mirror brushing my teeth, and I ended up just standing there with the toothbrush in my mouth for twenty full minutes. So I didn't have time to shower. It was like my mind hadn't even turned on yet, it was still just feeling the dream that I couldn't remember. And then like a crack of a whip, my mind realized I was now running too late to be able to shower.
It was when I was on the bus that I realized that I was going to get into trouble. That a bad thing was going to happen and it would be my fault. It was in my chest you know? Like, deep down in my chest, but it also felt like I could touch the feeling and make it tangible in my hands. But I couldn't make it tangible, and that made the feeling get worse somehow.
So then I go to work, and I keep on edge for my whole eight hours. I try my best not to let anything happen, I keep my conversations light and short with my co-workers. I dread every moment with my boss, but she seemed fine so no trouble was going to come from her or work. But I still couldn't ease up.
On the bus ride home, I knew I had to remember the dream soon, or it would all be over. I knew that. And yet...I couldn't remember it! I was flying into a panic, that's for sure. I don't mind saying, I was flying right into a panic.
I got home and took a shower, it felt great, I was totally relaxed. When I heard a noise outside my door. Like the front door slamming or something. But it was hard to be sure because I sing pretty loudly when I'm in the shower, so that mixed with the sound of the water rushing, it was too hard to tell. But it was a pretty distinct slam.
I was probably just being paranoid, that's what I figured. I was just being paranoid because of the bad feeling that I had had all day. That said though, I heard it again. Swear to God, heard it again! So I quickly hopped out of the shower and locked the door. The shower was still running, so I walked back to it and turned it off, and started to dry myself off. Feeling safe because of the locked door.
I live in a small bachelor pad, the main door opens and you can walk straight to the kitchen with my livingroom/bedroom to the right. The door immediately to the left is my tiny bathroom. I can barely sit on the toilet, but that's because I need to get rid of my hefty gut. It's hard when you work in an office all day. And you have a thyroid problem.
I kept on feeling like I could hear someone in my apartment. So I started to cry, because I didn't want to die like that. I didn't want to die as some fat guy in his towel. All just because somebody did a home invasion because I couldn't remember a fucking dream. So there I was, crying, blubbering really. Too afraid to open the door.
In a moment of angry, desperate courage, I burst the door open flailing the lid of my toilet around. Screaming at the top of my lungs. My towel, slipped off and caught on the corner of my couch. And I fell face first in to my own toilet lid.
I woke up in the hospital. Apparently a neighbor heard me screaming and called the cops. I was unconscious. When I woke up, I told them that I had suffered a home invasion.
In reality, something bad did happen. And it was all my fault. And in a sense, it was all because I couldn't remember a dream.
So I get up, and I'm tired, I mean like, really tired. And then I'm stuck in front of the mirror brushing my teeth, and I ended up just standing there with the toothbrush in my mouth for twenty full minutes. So I didn't have time to shower. It was like my mind hadn't even turned on yet, it was still just feeling the dream that I couldn't remember. And then like a crack of a whip, my mind realized I was now running too late to be able to shower.
It was when I was on the bus that I realized that I was going to get into trouble. That a bad thing was going to happen and it would be my fault. It was in my chest you know? Like, deep down in my chest, but it also felt like I could touch the feeling and make it tangible in my hands. But I couldn't make it tangible, and that made the feeling get worse somehow.
So then I go to work, and I keep on edge for my whole eight hours. I try my best not to let anything happen, I keep my conversations light and short with my co-workers. I dread every moment with my boss, but she seemed fine so no trouble was going to come from her or work. But I still couldn't ease up.
On the bus ride home, I knew I had to remember the dream soon, or it would all be over. I knew that. And yet...I couldn't remember it! I was flying into a panic, that's for sure. I don't mind saying, I was flying right into a panic.
I got home and took a shower, it felt great, I was totally relaxed. When I heard a noise outside my door. Like the front door slamming or something. But it was hard to be sure because I sing pretty loudly when I'm in the shower, so that mixed with the sound of the water rushing, it was too hard to tell. But it was a pretty distinct slam.
I was probably just being paranoid, that's what I figured. I was just being paranoid because of the bad feeling that I had had all day. That said though, I heard it again. Swear to God, heard it again! So I quickly hopped out of the shower and locked the door. The shower was still running, so I walked back to it and turned it off, and started to dry myself off. Feeling safe because of the locked door.
I live in a small bachelor pad, the main door opens and you can walk straight to the kitchen with my livingroom/bedroom to the right. The door immediately to the left is my tiny bathroom. I can barely sit on the toilet, but that's because I need to get rid of my hefty gut. It's hard when you work in an office all day. And you have a thyroid problem.
I kept on feeling like I could hear someone in my apartment. So I started to cry, because I didn't want to die like that. I didn't want to die as some fat guy in his towel. All just because somebody did a home invasion because I couldn't remember a fucking dream. So there I was, crying, blubbering really. Too afraid to open the door.
In a moment of angry, desperate courage, I burst the door open flailing the lid of my toilet around. Screaming at the top of my lungs. My towel, slipped off and caught on the corner of my couch. And I fell face first in to my own toilet lid.
I woke up in the hospital. Apparently a neighbor heard me screaming and called the cops. I was unconscious. When I woke up, I told them that I had suffered a home invasion.
In reality, something bad did happen. And it was all my fault. And in a sense, it was all because I couldn't remember a dream.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)