I did what you wanted. I'm living this fucking 21st Century North American Responsible Adult Working Every Day thing, OK? I did it! So get off my case.
You wanted me to enter the Race, so I did. For you, all of you who wanted what's best for me. But I knew that I wouldn't enjoy it, and I said it then, and I was right, so please don't act so surprised, so scandalized, if I'm not overjoyed at the prospect of feeling like an empty shell for the rest of my life. Can you, in all honesty, tell me that I should love this existence? That I should go with the flow and turn a blind eye to all the shit that's festering under our paved-up Civilization? That I should relax and just "chill", with the help of pills if need be? Are you telling me that you don't understand why I'm so unhappy, so beaten, so empty?
You taught me the Joys & the Importance of Knowledge, and I listened to you. One way or the other, all I ever did was try to know, to see, to feel, to understand. Having fun was one way of doing it, way back when. Reading. Role-playing. Losing myself in all kinds of imaginary worlds and settings. Writing, eventually, was also a way to further this quest. Getting drunk, getting high.
All of this led me to the State of Mind that I am in now, where this Gift that you gave me has morphed into a nightmarish cursed Looking-Glass, in which everything everywhere is either damaged, corrupted, irretrievably lost, degenerated or just plain bad. I've opened up the "doors of perception", and I now have the power to be properly horrified by what's around me.
To have some Knowledge, and to have it be useless (a hindrance, even) in my day to day existence, and to have seen it become an ever-persisting self-torturing tool of increasing insanity… I can't even begin to describe how it makes me feel.
"Are you happy?" you all ask me. And I say no, or --- confused --- I mumble something to that effect, not being one to boldly declare what I feel or what I think, but you don't listen, you don't hear, you only want to get your worries of your chest. Nobody can help anybody anyway, so why pretend? Why bother? Why insult me with your condescending "I'm not unhappy therefore I must be doing something right and not you" attitude.
You wanted me to enter the Race, so I did. For you, all of you who wanted what's best for me. But I knew that I wouldn't enjoy it, and I said it then, and I was right, so please don't act so surprised, so scandalized, if I'm not overjoyed at the prospect of feeling like an empty shell for the rest of my life. Can you, in all honesty, tell me that I should love this existence? That I should go with the flow and turn a blind eye to all the shit that's festering under our paved-up Civilization? That I should relax and just "chill", with the help of pills if need be? Are you telling me that you don't understand why I'm so unhappy, so beaten, so empty?
You taught me the Joys & the Importance of Knowledge, and I listened to you. One way or the other, all I ever did was try to know, to see, to feel, to understand. Having fun was one way of doing it, way back when. Reading. Role-playing. Losing myself in all kinds of imaginary worlds and settings. Writing, eventually, was also a way to further this quest. Getting drunk, getting high.
All of this led me to the State of Mind that I am in now, where this Gift that you gave me has morphed into a nightmarish cursed Looking-Glass, in which everything everywhere is either damaged, corrupted, irretrievably lost, degenerated or just plain bad. I've opened up the "doors of perception", and I now have the power to be properly horrified by what's around me.
To have some Knowledge, and to have it be useless (a hindrance, even) in my day to day existence, and to have seen it become an ever-persisting self-torturing tool of increasing insanity… I can't even begin to describe how it makes me feel.
"Are you happy?" you all ask me. And I say no, or --- confused --- I mumble something to that effect, not being one to boldly declare what I feel or what I think, but you don't listen, you don't hear, you only want to get your worries of your chest. Nobody can help anybody anyway, so why pretend? Why bother? Why insult me with your condescending "I'm not unhappy therefore I must be doing something right and not you" attitude.
Aucun commentaire:
Publier un commentaire