Stories, Perspectives, Fuckery and Bathos

Do you think you’ve been wronged, hurt? You are disappointed, heartbroken, let down? Your dreams truncated, expectations shattered? It may interest you to know that you have broken, shattered someone’s dreams just by existing. You’ve let someone down horribly, wronged someone out there even if unwittingly, through no deliberate act or omission on your part, yes. Just the fact of your existence has perpetrated an act which led to the pain of another living thing. Your parents may have wanted a child of a different gender, or at a different time from when they had you, or perhaps not wanted you at all even. Each aquatic animal fished from the sea, land animal shot down, to augment your protein intake is your fault. The extra discomfort others feel when they breathe in a crowded room, stale breath, sweaty armpit and all the things you complain about is part of what you give. Its a cycle, pain, hurt and what have you? We receive and give it, we recycle it until this universe is a turgid mass of bruises. And we men, we are the connoisseurs, we radiate, reflect and promote this Ill force. Knowing this might mitigate the hurt or pain you feel. Perhaps you speak of choice, deliberate action, and evil men. There is not so much choice as you think. Perhaps none at all. Everything is a reflection of something else. A room full of never ending mirrors and reflections so long we don’t know the source of the image. For those who think so, I will tell you there is neither good, nor bad, nor evil,  just stories. And differing perspectives, of the tellers. Let us take a look at two people, a father and a son. The son, born sick, chronically so. Doomed to suffer all the days of his life and watch the better off lifeforms enjoy that which he can only wish for. Called names, cursed, laughed, jeered at and shunned. He goes home to a disciplinarian father who screams and beats at him for every slight wrong. Over the years as he grows up he will be told he is eviller than every other being to have walked the earth. He will also be blamed for every Ill act ever perpetrated and tagged a committer of every vice known to man. Tortured mentally, starved, drilled and he will eventually lose the father figure he loves and hates in a way that will belie every Ill he has suffered thus far. Does it end there? No I’m afraid what they told you is a lie. Death is not the end. After this while mourning and trying to reconcile his feelings for the dead, he will be discredited by both the living and the dead even more. At this point you might observe that the young man has been unfortunate, dealt a hard blow, compounded by his rigid, perhaps even cruel father. This is his story. Now to that of a brilliant, recourceful father with children. He has expectations of them. But they prove not to be ever as recourceful or as brilliant as he himself was at their age. Even though he gives them all he never had, equips them with every tool, every weapon necessary in fighting life’s battles. Then he tries other tactics. Perhaps suffering does indeed build character. It built his afteral and everybody agrees he’s a model figure of uprightness and success. So he tries to create the environment and suffering he grew up in for them. This doesn’t work too. Now the people he worked his life, and outworked every limb for think him bad. He continues to struggle to care for them and mold them to good character. They resist, its a bitter struggle but he must do his fatherly duty which is proving hard, what hes dysfunctioning penis cannot be. His body is failing him. Yet he struggles through age, pain and illness to build a legacy for the ungrateful lot. The system does not help him. It is mashed, messy and does its best at every step to hinder him. He strives on, the quintessence of perseverance and selflessness. For all his work and effort he is eventually kidnapped, tortured with fire, rope and irons. His spirit could not be broken but his flesh is mangled and still warm body dumped in an open feild for his loved ones to find. So in this two stories tell me, who is hero, who is villain? Who is protagonist, who is antagonist? The one that lived? That one will eventually die too. Who wronged who? Who was good? Who was evil? I say neither. The universe then? Life? Please. The universe says to shut up. Yes you accusing the universe should shut the fuck up. You burn off its ozone layer everyday, destroy its trees, kills off its wildlife, dump your waste in its oceans. The universe says you don’t know its story. It suffers as you do. So does any other being or creature you finger. Where are my positivists? Our mullahs and missionaries and preachers and meditating monks? It will all be okay? If I pray, worship, meditate? We will eventually be repaid with inner peace, virgins, immortality and live on a beautiful paradise earth? Will we go to heaven? Or a spirit world with our dead ancestors? Whichever it is, and if so, it hardly matters. I find it hard to pray for any of this ’cause it hardly changes the fact we were prey.
It hardly washes away the pain of before, the hurt. Dosnt make it all right. All that should never have happened to begin with. Where does this leave us? With a lot of fuckery. Yes I say everything is fucked. Me writing this I am fucked, you reading this you are equally fucked. The world I live in as I write, the parchment on which I write this, everything is fucked. And what is left to do? Fuck it all up even more. So sit back and watch me fuck up my share of it until I’m done with my story and the next person picks it up. Go on, have a loud long fucking up of it too as you go. Happy fuckery.

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