Impossible. At some point after so much torture – one has no good thoughts left. Any words left are seldom good. Deeds are of necessity and never pleasure. Good and bad are relative terms to a beaten down dejected individual.
This pessimistic conclusion goes against the way I had chosen to live my life up until recently. How does one combat evil force without using force to repel? In instances of battle; equitable acts of evil between warring parties are noble if done with a pure and good intent – but they still haunt the doer if he’s good inside. No pleasure is taken in attacking.
Pleasure is in peace and harmony.
If necessary, sometimes good men must act evil to protect the peace and harmony of themselves and their people.
When a predatory evil doer infects the thoughts and life of a good human; is there some balancing force somewhere that equalizes things and protects the good? At one time I had deep faith in this; but the older I get – the less I feel protected by the human systems that feign basic protections that are hardly delivered to the funding-class.
Our spirits can be infected by the evil. It will beat you and slap you and stone you.
Being taught to turn the other cheek has a limit. I turned the other cheek and it ruined my life.
Instead of the abundance of good; that perpetual good vibe upon which I lived – I find myself in the darkest of passageways – wishing anguish and destruction on those that stole my youth.
My body is aging rapidly and falling to pieces; those small drips of things other than pain that once provided an occasional sustenance; the periodic plateau and rest of momentary pleasure or respite; are fewer and further between.
I love being a father. Period. Despite the near constant physical pain I am in – seeing her smile and achieve things that make her proud makes every bit of work worth it.
Unfortunately, an exceedingly elusive feeling is that of a benevolent outlook on my fellow creatures.
As I observe the world around me; it would appear that not only has my micro-life disintegrated on the evil wishes of a select few awful people – subtly influencing me in destructive ways – but even coming out on top in the situation still leaves my child harmed by people that are supposed to care for us and especially her.
My chosen truth of so many years that ‘Man is Good and Just’ shattered by so few individuals, so quickly.
Not only has the micro-world around me shattered alongside the rose-colored glasses through-which I viewed my past – the larger macrocosm has taken such a dark dystopian turn that the only real vestige of faith or hope I can muster is that in some way or type or place we really are in a simulation of sorts and that the soul is immortal; that no matter what happens – at some inevitable juncture the lights will suddenly turn on and the DJ will halt the music with a scratch as a benevolent wizard stumbles out from behind the emerald curtain to reveal how all the plotlines weave together and beautifully display the poetic ways in which justice shall be served.
Here’s the difference between me and you, mystery stalker – you’re weak. Thats why you take so ruthlessly of others.
I’ve lived more genuinely and joyfully despite the shade thrown at us.
Kick all you want, you can’t kill the spark.
That’s all I needed.
Just a spark.
Then I took a calm deep breath and uttered a few simple words of truth; burning your House of Swords to ashes.
To be clear:
- People are allowed to be odd.
- If I could paint the neat shit I think about, I would. But I prefer bang out word sounds.
- Fuck off, mate.