Never, Never Land
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Monday, November 2, 2009
Posted by Matthias at 6:40 PM
I'm writing this because I'm angry, quite angry. I hate my generation. In essence I hate myself. It's not the kind of hate that fuels wars, nor the sort of hate that drives to kill. I hate with a slow and burning ember, one which roasts over time, broils the skin from muscle and chars the flesh from bone. All that follows is not the rage of a warrior, but the rage of a writer, a man who, through giving up weaponry finds sterner ways of assault. Through relinquishing cold steel may we find that which feeds the forge that created it, bitter, bitter strength through intelligence.
Ever recall times which you found those around you incompetent? If not, I suggest you walk away. For those who have, know you are plentiful. To realize that you are involved with those of little expressed intelligence, is to find yourself to be almost among animals. It's a truly sad thought to wake up and find that you can't handle being with those you have deemed unworthy by sudden realization. In that way knowledge is burdening, for to know such things is to be alone with only your own thoughts. Knowledge is sour.
In the height of knowledge, we can only ever realize that those around us are lacking, but even in the discovery of someone alike in us serves only to create friction, not bond. With friction there will come action and with threat will come reaction, only to be expected with other people. Even after knowledge, there is still only human emotion and human limit. With humanity comes fealty, which is perceived as weakness. Weakness of heart and mind, such things are of concern, for with knowledge you must have the ability to protect it and the ability to refuse fealty. In doing so you must refuse emotion, to be stoic against the tides. With stoicism comes freedom.
To hell with togetherness, individualism is what America should have in ideal.
Posted by Matthias at 5:29 PM
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Being Good. At one time or another in our lives we've all had that promise that we'd "be good." We'd be watchful, at attention, at present. What truly makes something good? Is it the acknowledging of "Right" done by the general populace, or is it the gut instinct that calls for sudden action? What discerns right from wrong other than our own discerning. When we know in our minds that good is done, it is always so sure, it's always so honest. Can we really tell what good is? It can never be placed what true good is. I barely ever know if what I do is right, if what I do is humanly sound. Every breath we take is never even ours, we steal our air, we steal out glances, we steal our kisses, our hugs, our words. In every action we take something and we never give it back. But why do we need to apologize? We don't. Simply put, apologies are only excuses, excuses to hide our intentions. I'm sorry I did this, I'm sorry about that, but what really matters? Nothing. None of that, because they're spoken with stolen words and with stolen lips created by stolen genetics.
Like broken keys, we're all out of tune. No matter the weight we bear, no matter the size of the chip on your shoulder, we all play out the same way. A predictable pattern, shaped by society, which dances like another less complicated pattern. Good can be discerned so obviously by the ignorant or the pious because they have been contoured to a certain view. Evil is shown, is spat at, but the accusations and demonizing only go so deep as to fabricate the truth. Digging deeply enough would reveal choice. In a storm of differing opinions and view points, therein lies you with the choice to be with one or the other. But that ever remains choice, not option. Choice differs option because options are set in stone, choices are as changeable as winds at sea. Only when we see both sides do we know full truth and are able to embrace choice. Really, good is only skin deep. Good, in stark reality, isn't a choice of who holds the most money, who has the better religion, it's a system of morals, even feelings should be null. Feelings disrupt morals, disrupt everything. The twitches in the back of your head, they only serve to cloud judgment.
In the end we must be like mountains in a storm, in a tempest, immovable. We don't need to be heralded as good, or as evil, we must know choice and know the power of words. We need to know what, by the power of observation, is the lesser of the two evil presented. Yet, evil things, by far always engulf you, even behind your lines of morality, you are assaulted. You can look to your friends, to your family, but they don't help you make the choice, they don't give more reason to choose one side or another. Their opinions should never matter, in the end the only opinion that matters to you, should only ever be your own, because you can only ever trust yourself, even if that is still a long shot.
I stand on the precipice, looking down into a gaping maw, but I don't have to be alone, I choose to be.
Posted by Matthias at 6:05 PM