Thickheaded Control-Freak

A wrongdoer manipulated my life, like an abuser experimenting with a youngster.  He turned me into a wild animal.  I’m the product of someone’s playful mischief.  Aren’t we all?

My body is a defective vessel — a vehicle which will expire.  Something or hopefully someone will come out of it alive.  A different dummy shall step out of it and face a new reality.

But right now, what am I to do?  Be gloomy?  How can I not be.  I’m this weird creature, controlled by even weirder ones.  There is no way out.  Or is there?  I must wait for the metamorphosis to occur.  I wish the process would accelerate.  Is suicide the answer?

Is killing my body unnatural?  So many do it.  Has it become the norm yet?  We all do it gradually.  Life does it naturally.  I can make myself sick physically.  It’s easy.  But I stubbornly keep my body healthy.  Why?  Maybe because it hurts when I don’t.

But now my soul hurts.  Is it better to have a hurting spirit?  Having to drag this body along is painful.  And when it dies, what kind of body will I be given?  Who will decide?  Maybe I will be able to choose.  My angel said he could shapeshift.  Wow!

I can’t wait to have a shapeshifting body.

My dominant plays god.  That’s what he does.  My evolution would happen naturally if only he would let it be.  But he wants to play divinity.  Prick.  And I’m stuck under his authority for a while.  Like I have a say in what I let my children do.  But kids grow, and sooner or later we lose our authority over them.  It’s a liberation process.  How long will this go on regarding this Daemon?  Does it depend on me or on him?

I am enduring but not so patient.  Let go of me, bitch!

So I ended up here, in this environment.  But still, he has a hold on me.

Let go already, thickheaded control-freak!

I Will Fly

I’ll die.
I’ll die too.
I’ll die to you.
I’ll die to you all.
I’ll die to you, all-mighty.
I’ll die to you, all-mighty god.
I’ll die to you, all-mighty goddamned.
I’ll die to you, all-mighty goddamn society.

Die5

I’ll fly to you, all-mighty goddamn society.
I’ll fly to you, all-mighty goddamned.
I’ll fly to you, all-mighty god.
I’ll fly to you, all-mighty.
I’ll fly to you all.
I’ll fly to you.
I’ll fly too.
I’ll fly.

The Liar

He lies to his wife, lies to his children, lies to his followers, lies to his friends.  No, sorry.  Not to his friends because he doesn’t have any.  The liar doesn’t have friends, he has… figurines, or pawns, or deluded admirers.

That’s right.  And he doesn’t live, he subsists within his own exquisitely well decorated prison.  He walks around, alone among others, smiling and waving, buying and selling.  He drugs his one-track mind to sleep, drugs his trimmed body to work, drugs his flaccid organ to night clubs, and the next day goes to church.  He has sex with himself while screwing the other.

The liar is popular, rich, famous and funny.  He loves his life and is afraid to die.  He can’t stand sickness, can’t tolerate unhappiness, can’t understand meditation.  He watches tv, follows the news and dresses fashionably.

The liar cheats his partner, cheats his employer and cheats himself.  He’s an expert with words, he knows exactly what to say and when to say it.  He knows when to play the hero and when to play the victim.  The liar is a player.

He succeeds in everything he does, he hardly ever gets criticised because he’s wise, slick and sly, politically correct, healthy and he supports the army.  He suffers from headaches but doesn’t tell anyone.  He goes to the dentist regularly and makes sure his teeth are white.

The liar doesn’t last forever

Because he can’t enter eternity

The liar might be your neighbour

He might be you or he might be me

What a disgusting blogpost

I feel like regurgitating my dinner

Please excuse me

The Deceiver

Money, it’s you!

Yesss, god-man.  So nice to see you again.

Oh, go away.

Let me look at you…

Leave me alone.

You don’t want me to look at you?
Then, you look at me!

No, sir!  I know what you’re trying to do.

You do?…  I mean…
Don’t you trust me?

No.

Then there’s nothing I can do to help.

You want to help me?

Certainly!
I can see to it that you never have to leave this jungle.

How could you do that?

Oh, I have my own subtle little ways.
But first, you must trust me.

I don’t trust anyone anymore.

I don’t blame you.
But I’m not like those so-called friends of yours.
You can believe in me…

Trust in me
Just in me
Shut your eyes
Trust in me

You can sleep
Safe and sound
Knowing I
Am around

Slip into silent slumber
Sail on a silver mist
Slowly and surely your senses
Will cease to resist

money

– – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Text inspired by:
“Trust in Me” from the Disney movie The Jungle Book

Back to Blogging

After many months of non-blogging, I decided to start blogging again today. Is it because I have something useful to tell the world? No.

The few people who will actually take the time to read this will probably get nothing out of it. Then why make it public?

Because I don’t go out much and I have a need to get myself “out there.” I have a need for exposure. Blogging makes me feel that I am an active member of society. Ha! ha!

Why am I laughing?

The phrase “I am an active member of society” makes me laugh. Active. As if.

Does society want to witness my act? I know it wants my submission. It also wants my money. And yes, it probably wants me to act appropriately. But is this what I want to give out to society? No.

What I want to give to society is a piece of my mind. I don’t think society wants to hear it. Thus the reason why blogging exists. Whether or not anyone reads it, the act of blogging is a public act. The perfect medium for an introvert.

I’m not interested in acting. I just want to BE. And it seems that in this world, the only way to be accepted is to act well. How about being real?

If being true has become offensive, then today I declare myself an offensive person. Does that make me a terrorist? Probably.

They can come and kill me if they want. I don’t care. I care not to suffer but I don’t mind dying. I think I’ve seen pretty much all that this world has to offer anyway. So let us all gladly surrender and move on to something better.

A blank page offers the opportunity to start fresh. There are no limits to how many posts I can publish in one day (is there?). So let’s end this one right here and start again from scratch. Writing is unlimited. Today I shall blog.

Blood Money

blood-money

Why did they make society so complicated?

Ah! for money.

I see…

Money gives them the illusion of power.  It makes them believe that they control everything.  They see only superficially, and they think:

“The innocent belong to us.
We own them all.
We can make them do whatever we want.
We can purchase their land and their activity.
We can even buy their fidelity.
We give them a little and make them crave for more.
We make them believe how wonderful life would be if they had more money.
They must want more, that way we can make them do whatever we want.
The innocent will do anything for it,
even things they don’t want to do,
even kill each other.
We need to keep them busy.
We need to keep them worried.
So that they won’t have to time to stop and think.
Their desire for more money must override all other thought.
They will never realize what is happening.
How stupid they are.
We have the power!”

Wake up, brothers and sisters.  They don’t own us.  And we don’t need their blood money.

The Introvert

unsociability5

Today is party day.  My wife invited a lot of people — family and friends.  I know what to expect, I went through this circus many times.  We will greet each other, sit, talk, drink, laugh, eat and then climax:  happy whatever!

The talk usually starts with a “how are you,” then revolves around whichever topic is mentioned.  The fun things we did are brought up, the interesting things we saw are emphasized.  Then anything goes:  hearsay, rumors, news from TV or from other members of the family or of famous people.  Who’s good, who’s bad.  Anything that pops up can become the subject of discussion.  Opinions are expressed.  Jokes are inserted.

Laughing is important to keep the mood happy.  When speaking, a touch of exaggeration is necessary to keep the listeners entertained.  Sometimes there is originality but most of the time opinions are second-hand ideas, the repeating of things heard elsewhere.  Finally a clever “expert” will make a concluding remark and the subject will change.

Fortunately, there is respect in our group.  No fighting.  There is a small chance of an argument between the mother-in-law and her daughter, but nothing serious.  Three languages are in use:  French, Portuguese and English.  It can get confusing because some of us understand and speak only one or two of those languages.  No one bothers translating.  You pick up what you can.  The discussions rarely amount to anything anyway, except maybe laughter.

I think most of the participants just enjoy the feeling of togetherness.  It doesn’t really matter what is said.  Compliments are always welcome.  Funny things are remembered.  Polite smiles are expected, fake ones for photos.

The bulk of the herd should arrive around 5 p.m. and leave at 9.  We will be crammed on the main floor of our medium-sized house.  I will have to endure a minimum of four hours of movement, noise and interaction requests.  I don’t know how to prepare for it except to write and express my apprehension of this upcoming inescapable situation.  I usually fare pretty well, though.  I take the role of the bartender, mixing drinks and serving the thirsty.

I’m more of a listener, and once in a while I will throw a sarcastic comment that will get a few of them rolling and the others frowning.  Two or three such interruptions is usually the most I can afford in one sitting.  I usually drink in order to help my mind relax, but I want to try not drinking at all this time.

I feel alienated in a crowd and never know where I fit in.  I try not to stay too long in the same spot.  I walk around, pretending I’m going somewhere, trying to stay cool.  It’s hard to engage in any sort of intelligent conversation because of the chaos and noise.  Everyone knows that I’m disabled, that I don’t go out much and that I’m a bit depressed, so they don’t bother asking me what I’ve been doing lately because it’s kind of useless.

My mother-in-law usually asks me “how are you,” I reply “fine” and that’s the end of our conversation.  What else can I say?  The truth is:  “I’m sad because your daughter ruined me financially,” but that would be a bad thing to say.  And the purpose of life is to be fucking good, right?  Or at least appear to be…

The clock is ticking.  I want this day to be over quickly.  I don’t get what others enjoy in these gatherings.  I understand though, because I once experienced the warmth of being with a group of friends in the past.  I’m not sure why I changed, though.  Maybe it’s just part of growing up.  Or maybe I lost my friends and I don’t know how to make new ones.  It’s a mystery.

I’m an introvert, I know this much, and that’s a good enough explanation, I guess…