5:41 p.m. - 2004-10-18
If ever Othello loved me..........
In lieu of absolutely barbaric customs of practical needing and impractical wanting, we leave ourselves wrapped in a comatose state of emotion. That which is sure to hurt us is beautiful and captivating and teases us, while that which may serve as a comfort will cause fear due to sharp appearances and coarse manners. We must take into consideration that no matter the Utopia you claim you found and keep well it is of course contradictory to that which you know and must come to terms with. You cannot pass off any form of life known to today�s world as a paradise for there is still crime and there is death and there is deception. Your idealistic futures lie not in that space which has been resting beneath your rib cage and as long as you let your compassion map your trail, you will be led into dangers you may never see end. To stay true to my contradictory customs, your mentality is little judge of any means of accommodations either. In either case you are taking the risk of breathing a minute less or, in extremes, years less than standard. Whether that is your ideal or not is hidden within seas that are untouchable to those who have already tasted salt. In all cases of remorse and revenge, we find ourselves longing for sweet Venus and allowing the dear Havishams of sadistic tendencies to do as they will as long as there is a strong response of gluttony. When we are asked to recall what incited such acts of emotion, we come up with secrets that may only be whispered among those who share telepathic connections. Are we brave? Or are we just the ones who have been hurt before? Battle scars aren�t always visible, but our tendency to take pity on what we can�t explain is beyond even our own thought processes. How do we make evils out of those who have never harmed and heroines out of poisons? We form societies out of lies that we trick ourselves into believing. How convincing are you? How often do you condemn those who have not passed in your judgment? How often have you played the act of the creator, sustainer, and destroyer? What gives you such privileges? What societies do we live in that turn a cheek at our hazing games and abilities to take charge due only to coincidence? We close doors on those we disapprove of, but these doors are antiqued farther back then even our most detailed of fantasies may go. These doors were gifts and far more easily crafted then we make it seem. If you want through it, you best know the password, handshake, and an entertaining riddle or two, or else you will be shunned and sent to fend for yourself. When you find yourself cloaked in shame, crawl through your broken glass jar and I will feed you apple-peru and sing you intricate lullabies that will surely comfort you into a deceitful bereavement. We trick ourselves into believing that life and law are the same thing and that which is suitable by law must be suitable to live by, but legal terms are only of use in situations of theft and injury, for casualties are far more personal and cannot be brushed off as a matter of a few terms and opinions of selected citizens. This may all appear irrelevant to barbaric customs of the world we inhabit, but when asked to imagine what we would be like if it were different, we become offended and defend our self created utopias with ideals. Imagine a world free of bias and prejudice. Can you imagine a world where religion is not an issue and today is all we are sure of? Can you imagine your neighborhood magnified a million-fold in scale with the world around us? This is our world and we are creating everything we have. We make the wealth and we take from the poor. We are barbaric because we know that it is futile to expect any trace of human compassion. We are depending on lies. What happened to the confidence and independence that we gained as a toddler? What makes us so needy now? Why do stubborn instances of independence mean I am not acting my age? What does maturity mean to you? What makes you think you know? What makes any of us better than another? If you dare tell me that I�m the martyr or that I�m searching for pity or that I�m aiming to hurt myself, I�ll look in every angle possible for a looking glass.� Hello pot, this is kettle, you are black.� You think I�m the joke, but you are mistaken. If anything I�m the jester and barely that. My impact on this fucking special society is only probable .000001 percent of the time. Maybe I do wish I was special, but I wish a lot of things and I�m not doing anything about those either. Maybe someday we can be friends and we�ll be infamous for our ability to make a difference. I�m through with promises and trusting you. Trust no one is what I should tell you, but I know it�s wrong. I am publicly stating that I have morals and I am purposely going against them. I think you should avoid listening to anything I advise you on, but the truth is, trusting you is too risky. We�ll see, maybe after this oversized campfire in extinguished, I�ll try, but for now, there�s nothing in it for you and I�ve learned by now. Just now, that although you left first, as I predicted, you made it so much further then anyone else. I almost thought you made it. I should have known better. This, angels, is where I leave you with your thoughts of doubt towards your own societies and those who are around you. I hope you take your days more closely into consideration and remember who asked you to do so, because eventually you�ll need someone to blame and I always want my name to be the first to roll off your tongue in just such a situation. Welcome to Utopia, my dearly confused characters of oblivion.
