Post by unburntflame on May 19, 2003 5:19:57 GMT -5
This is a piece of writing, and I’m writing it for me.
Don’t you think its amazing, at the amount of people who will happily act as sheep, as clones, as lemmings? That people would be so weak-minded that they follow the crowd, do whatever the ‘leader’ does. And where does this ‘leader’ come from? A box? Packaged and sent from Sri Lanka? Or from other people? One single person built up from underneath, the lemmings believing them to be magnificent, invincible, untouchable.
Truth is, even invincible people can be touched, can be pulled down. I should know, I’m one of those people. A leader, invincible. Now, I’m down. Down from my trophy shelf, which my clones put me on. My preaching pedestal thrown into the fires of Hell, while I stand by and watch my priestly kingdom crumbling and falling away from me. The walls which once protected all it held inside now vulnerable to the outside world. To be weathered down by taunts, passing comments; often previously un-thought-of, not intending hurt, often surpassing barriers of protection and reaching the hearts, the souls of clones in the open.
We are open, because one by one, the lemmings are learning to think for themselves. Realising that Hell will not devour you if you are different; if you make a difference. Hell will not burn your soul for deciding to make your own life, to break free from the flock of sheep and make your own new.
Believe in Eternity; that you have Eternity to live for yourself and that protection in flocks of lost souls is not protection but escape. What are you escaping from? Me, - I’m running from myself. I’m scared to search too deep inside myself because I’m scared of what I’ll find. Of who I’ll find. Of when I’ll find it. Do you not stand on the edge of a cliff to feel the pulsing blood rushing through your veins, to see the ground fall a million miles away beneath you, to have only the wind deciding your fate? You take this risk, yet you are afraid of yourself.
Is it just me, or is that stupid?
Why are some people so insecure that they feel they need to put down, degrade verbally or even physically reduce others? How can beating the living shit out of someone make you feel like a better person? But of course, you could always just abuse them with words. Call them names, say things about friends, make fun of the person’s cultural heritage. Oh yeah, that makes you such a tough, respectable person!
Being different doesn’t mean you’re weird. Smart, dumb, pretty, ugly, fat skinny, blue eyes, brown eyes … it doesn’t matter. You cannot judge on another person something that you also love or hate about yourself. How can you judge a person anyway? What are you comparing them to? Your idea of normal, of perfection; versus your idea of weird, of a loser; or of the general population’s view? That weird, freaky people are smart, have short hair, wear glasses, have braces and carry books and a calculator around all the time?
I don’t think so.
People as a general need to define for themselves between idealisms and reality. Reality is the world. Of what’s in the world. Of what the world is. People, noise, animals, soil . . . physical evidence that we exist.
Existence is a theory of the mind, just as love is a theory of the heart. No-one is able to prove we’re actually here, that we are ‘alive’, that we actually feel pain, feel love, feel rejection. Maybe we’re all just imaginations in the deep endlessness that we call space.
This is my story, and I wrote it for me.
Don’t you think its amazing, at the amount of people who will happily act as sheep, as clones, as lemmings? That people would be so weak-minded that they follow the crowd, do whatever the ‘leader’ does. And where does this ‘leader’ come from? A box? Packaged and sent from Sri Lanka? Or from other people? One single person built up from underneath, the lemmings believing them to be magnificent, invincible, untouchable.
Truth is, even invincible people can be touched, can be pulled down. I should know, I’m one of those people. A leader, invincible. Now, I’m down. Down from my trophy shelf, which my clones put me on. My preaching pedestal thrown into the fires of Hell, while I stand by and watch my priestly kingdom crumbling and falling away from me. The walls which once protected all it held inside now vulnerable to the outside world. To be weathered down by taunts, passing comments; often previously un-thought-of, not intending hurt, often surpassing barriers of protection and reaching the hearts, the souls of clones in the open.
We are open, because one by one, the lemmings are learning to think for themselves. Realising that Hell will not devour you if you are different; if you make a difference. Hell will not burn your soul for deciding to make your own life, to break free from the flock of sheep and make your own new.
Believe in Eternity; that you have Eternity to live for yourself and that protection in flocks of lost souls is not protection but escape. What are you escaping from? Me, - I’m running from myself. I’m scared to search too deep inside myself because I’m scared of what I’ll find. Of who I’ll find. Of when I’ll find it. Do you not stand on the edge of a cliff to feel the pulsing blood rushing through your veins, to see the ground fall a million miles away beneath you, to have only the wind deciding your fate? You take this risk, yet you are afraid of yourself.
Is it just me, or is that stupid?
Why are some people so insecure that they feel they need to put down, degrade verbally or even physically reduce others? How can beating the living shit out of someone make you feel like a better person? But of course, you could always just abuse them with words. Call them names, say things about friends, make fun of the person’s cultural heritage. Oh yeah, that makes you such a tough, respectable person!
Being different doesn’t mean you’re weird. Smart, dumb, pretty, ugly, fat skinny, blue eyes, brown eyes … it doesn’t matter. You cannot judge on another person something that you also love or hate about yourself. How can you judge a person anyway? What are you comparing them to? Your idea of normal, of perfection; versus your idea of weird, of a loser; or of the general population’s view? That weird, freaky people are smart, have short hair, wear glasses, have braces and carry books and a calculator around all the time?
I don’t think so.
People as a general need to define for themselves between idealisms and reality. Reality is the world. Of what’s in the world. Of what the world is. People, noise, animals, soil . . . physical evidence that we exist.
Existence is a theory of the mind, just as love is a theory of the heart. No-one is able to prove we’re actually here, that we are ‘alive’, that we actually feel pain, feel love, feel rejection. Maybe we’re all just imaginations in the deep endlessness that we call space.
This is my story, and I wrote it for me.
