Like smoke in a fire, I exist only to blow away. I am not the cause for my own existence, I am but the biproduct of something more mezmerizing, more spectacular, more beautiful. One would say that I can be more deadly than the thing that created me, asphyxiating all in my path, obstructing their view, making their hearts race. The fire is but camouflage. The wondrous heat that seeps from its energy causes fear as well as astonishement. It dances in homes as people have now found ways to tame it, forever consuming the surrounding air, gulping it away to better maintain its intensity. Humans need fire, and so there will always be smoke. The atractiveness of the dance is never tiring. They are attracted to the deathly beauty, and yet the wrath is not to be taken lightly. In a battle of the two, rarely will the fire go down without a fight, without casualty. And so, someone lights the fire, and there comes the smoke. Yes, there comes the smoke.
The Collector.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
00.00.03
Give a person too much time and they begin to think too much, put them to work, and they lack the time... and the energy.
I have too much time, and so I scare myself by thinking. Strangely enough, most times I end up thinking about the same things. Perhaps it's just me... It must be just me.
Walking home, I had a momentary "brain fart". "Why do I live down this street? Why is it that I remember where I live?" Things of the sort basically... I'm certain that were I to ask a scientist, he would explain to me the workings of the brain, what part of it controls memory, bringing to light the "what" but not the "why?".
Why do we exist?
It's amusing that I had time to think so much in the two and a half minutes that it takes for me to get from the corner of the street to my front door. It must be because it didn't take much time for me to not understand a theory and go to another. And then I found it.
We live only to die.
Why do we evolve?
To create even better methods to kill ourselves and in greater numbers.
What's our purpose?
"To expand our knowledge...blablabla." Basically, to try as hard as we possibly can to leave a mark on the world that we will leave behind, which in turn may or may not modify the way that future generations die.
Why then make a big deal out of people that commit suicide? "It's wrong. They're being selfish, they're destroying something so beautiful, so wonderful..." Again, blablabla. We're all going to die anyway, so what difference does it make whether we're nineteen or ninety? All roads eventually lead to a tombstone.
Of course some people may die before their time, I can't argue against that, but if I decide to commit murder, the person whose blood decorates my clothing, have I not simply induced what would've happened eventually? If I decide to slap a girl and that girl talks to some friend of hers and then that friend of hers, because she was in deep conversation with the girl, has to run to catch the bus, but while running is hit by a truck and dies, is that not my fault all the same? Have I not caused her to die, directly or not? Perhaps by murdering the first person I spoke of, I removed what could have been the cause of someone else's demise? A pregnant lady perhaps? Maybe the man I killed was going to fight with the husband of the pregnant lady, and because of the fight, the husband would've been so mad that he would go home and take out his rage on his wife and unborn child. Did I not in some way save their lives? Can I really be called a sinner?
Turning, I see her standing close behind me.
"It's rude to read over one's shoulder you know."
"Are you admitting to murder?"
"No. Now leave me alone."
"You are! I'm sure you are!"
"You don't even exist!"
"No! You're the one who doesn't exist!" she yells at me and then all goes dark.
- Feather
I have too much time, and so I scare myself by thinking. Strangely enough, most times I end up thinking about the same things. Perhaps it's just me... It must be just me.
Walking home, I had a momentary "brain fart". "Why do I live down this street? Why is it that I remember where I live?" Things of the sort basically... I'm certain that were I to ask a scientist, he would explain to me the workings of the brain, what part of it controls memory, bringing to light the "what" but not the "why?".
Why do we exist?
It's amusing that I had time to think so much in the two and a half minutes that it takes for me to get from the corner of the street to my front door. It must be because it didn't take much time for me to not understand a theory and go to another. And then I found it.
We live only to die.
Why do we evolve?
To create even better methods to kill ourselves and in greater numbers.
What's our purpose?
"To expand our knowledge...blablabla." Basically, to try as hard as we possibly can to leave a mark on the world that we will leave behind, which in turn may or may not modify the way that future generations die.
Why then make a big deal out of people that commit suicide? "It's wrong. They're being selfish, they're destroying something so beautiful, so wonderful..." Again, blablabla. We're all going to die anyway, so what difference does it make whether we're nineteen or ninety? All roads eventually lead to a tombstone.
Of course some people may die before their time, I can't argue against that, but if I decide to commit murder, the person whose blood decorates my clothing, have I not simply induced what would've happened eventually? If I decide to slap a girl and that girl talks to some friend of hers and then that friend of hers, because she was in deep conversation with the girl, has to run to catch the bus, but while running is hit by a truck and dies, is that not my fault all the same? Have I not caused her to die, directly or not? Perhaps by murdering the first person I spoke of, I removed what could have been the cause of someone else's demise? A pregnant lady perhaps? Maybe the man I killed was going to fight with the husband of the pregnant lady, and because of the fight, the husband would've been so mad that he would go home and take out his rage on his wife and unborn child. Did I not in some way save their lives? Can I really be called a sinner?
Turning, I see her standing close behind me.
"It's rude to read over one's shoulder you know."
"Are you admitting to murder?"
"No. Now leave me alone."
"You are! I'm sure you are!"
"You don't even exist!"
"No! You're the one who doesn't exist!" she yells at me and then all goes dark.
- Feather
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