"Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Why, I'm the greatest man on Earth."
"No you're not...you're an arrogant prick."
"You mean you're the arrogant prick."
"No, I meant you."
"My friend, your opinion of my character is completely invalid as far as I'm concerned. As long as I know who I am, it does not matter what you think of me."
"My friend, with that attitude you will win a lot of enemies and lose a lot of friends."
"So life goes."
"The world will kick you in the teeth! Can't you see?"
"So be it. I will work the harder."
"Everyone would be against you! Do you think they care?"
"Let me say it again, what they think of me is completely invalid as far as I'm concerned."
"You think you're such hot shit"
"Your opinions are merely the reflections of what other people say to you, my sad friend. You have no soul, no mind of your own. You're merely a rag-doll controlled by a collective entity."
"You're nuts."
"No. I'm free."
"But you can't do that! You can't just declare yourself as the greatest man on Earth and jabber about freedom and insult society and whatnot! Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I am the greatest man on Earth, for I have honed my abilities to near perfection. I am the greatest man on Earth for I have reason to acquire knowledge, I have intuition, I have everything that I need to validate my existence."
"You're crazy! You're crazy! You're a crazy son of a bitch!"
"Crazy? Look at yourself then. Is your life any saner than mine? Who do you think you are? Do you even know? Are you even aware of your own existence? Can't you not see that there is a dark shadow looming over you, surreptitiously watching your every move?"
"You're seeing things..."
"You're in denial."
"In denial? For heaven's sake, let us just cease this ridiculous conversation and pretend that it never happened in the first place."
"You can't handle the truth."
"Whether your insane theories are true or not, I have to live. And your way of living certainly violates all the principles and morals that I have lived by ever since the day of my birth. Goodbye sir!"
"Goodbye to you too then."
"Hmph!"
Sunday, January 17, 2010
A Full-Time Job Macabre
Another client on my checklist. Well, the term "client" is a misnomer. I mean, you can't arrange an appointment with your own death can you? Anyways, my new "client"'s name was Roger M. Paxton. Time of death: 12:35 pm. 30 seconds left. I left for my destination.
And I saw him, good ol' Roger M. Paxton, strolling about the streets of a battered town, his rifle slung across his shoulder and his kevlar vest glittering with middle-eastern dust. He seemed quite unaware of the fact that he would be dead in a matter of seconds.
So I waited. My last job was quite tedious because there were over a 100,000 souls to collect. Earthquake took them all. Poor chaps. They were mostly children too. And here I sat waiting for Roger M. Paxton to die so that I could take him to a better place.
10 seconds. People ask me frequently if I like my job. "Sure," I say. "The pay's good and you don't have to do much." Watching people die however, can be unnerving sometimes.
Ever since the conception of this planet called "Earth", I've had over trillions of clients. The job was easy to bear from the start since most of the deaths were consequences of natural causes. However, as time passed, life on Earth became increasingly intelligent and concocted ways of murdering one another in the most creative and nefarious ways. And humans think I'm evil because I take their life. Look, I'm just here to do my job. It's you guys who do all the killing.
I did not create guns, I did not create bombs. I did not create wars nor did I create genocides. For countless years I have put wretched humans out of their misery from this even more wretched planet. In some ways I think I should deserve more thanks than I usually get. But humans constantly make effigies of me: black cloaked figures wielding scythes, skull heads, satan, devil, the list goes on.... I get quite offended when people associate me with the devil. There is no such thing! Hell, I don't even know myself if God exists. All I know is that I just do my job and people die in the process.
Stupid humans. They always have to blame someone or something for their troubles. They blame religion, they blame the government, they blame society. They blame their friends, their parents, their lovers, and they blame me. Look, if you blame me, it's just like trying to bring your murdered friend back from the dead. IT DOESN'T WORK. Instead of blaming me, why don't you humans come up with a resolution? Lay down your guns, dismantle your bombs. I'm tired of having to pull off all-nighters because you damn humans keep killing each other! It's senseless! This world has become a slaughterhouse!
People say death does not have any feelings, that death is merciless and reaps human souls for his own enjoyment. But I do have feelings... I cringe when children get slaughtered and I have to cover my ears when the innocent die excruciating deaths. I can't help it when people murder each other. It's not my fault that humans like to kill each other. I'm a collector and I have to do my job.
5 seconds. I gazed at Roger M. Paxton's ruddy face. He had a light beard and his blue eyes were rigid with vigilance. I could already hear his widow weeping, his children wailing, his friends moaning. I wish I could do something to save him. I wish I could tell him that it wasn't his fault that he ended up in this hellhole and that he was going to a much better place soon. I wish I could take the lives of the men who wage these wars and sign the damn contracts that send thousands of young men to their imminent doom instead.
Paxton does not deserve to die. He has a family. He has a life. He has a soul. But do the big men care? To them, Paxton is merely a sacrificial pawn. His existence is irrelevant because his fight and his death will bring those big men their pile of dough.
2 seconds. Roger M. Paxton walked towards a garbage pile. He took out a cigarette and smoked. I shook my head sadly. The way Paxton lighted his cigarette was so casual and humane that it almost seemed inappropriate on a battlefield. He shouldn't be here. He should be playing catch with his son. He should be making love to his wife. What is a great man like Paxton doing here?
12:35. Things moved in slow motion. The ground beneath Paxton's feet shook and burst forth with tremendous force. Dust and debris kicked upwards like a spewing volcano. Objects within the proximity of the explosion were torn apart and Paxton's body vaporized into thin air. I stepped into the smoke and dust and got hold of Paxton's arm. He was safe with me. He could rest now. He could say goodbye to this wretched world and the wretched men who killed him. He could embrace me. He could love me. He could sleep forever and rest in peace. I wished to have a chat with Paxton, but I had more clients to take care of. So I left Paxton to go on his way and set off to my new destination. After this I would have to race to the other side of the world to take care of more clients...sigh. The list never ends. It goes on forever and ever.
And people frequently ask me if I like my job. "Sure," I say. "The pay's good and you don't have to do much."
And I saw him, good ol' Roger M. Paxton, strolling about the streets of a battered town, his rifle slung across his shoulder and his kevlar vest glittering with middle-eastern dust. He seemed quite unaware of the fact that he would be dead in a matter of seconds.
So I waited. My last job was quite tedious because there were over a 100,000 souls to collect. Earthquake took them all. Poor chaps. They were mostly children too. And here I sat waiting for Roger M. Paxton to die so that I could take him to a better place.
10 seconds. People ask me frequently if I like my job. "Sure," I say. "The pay's good and you don't have to do much." Watching people die however, can be unnerving sometimes.
Ever since the conception of this planet called "Earth", I've had over trillions of clients. The job was easy to bear from the start since most of the deaths were consequences of natural causes. However, as time passed, life on Earth became increasingly intelligent and concocted ways of murdering one another in the most creative and nefarious ways. And humans think I'm evil because I take their life. Look, I'm just here to do my job. It's you guys who do all the killing.
I did not create guns, I did not create bombs. I did not create wars nor did I create genocides. For countless years I have put wretched humans out of their misery from this even more wretched planet. In some ways I think I should deserve more thanks than I usually get. But humans constantly make effigies of me: black cloaked figures wielding scythes, skull heads, satan, devil, the list goes on.... I get quite offended when people associate me with the devil. There is no such thing! Hell, I don't even know myself if God exists. All I know is that I just do my job and people die in the process.
Stupid humans. They always have to blame someone or something for their troubles. They blame religion, they blame the government, they blame society. They blame their friends, their parents, their lovers, and they blame me. Look, if you blame me, it's just like trying to bring your murdered friend back from the dead. IT DOESN'T WORK. Instead of blaming me, why don't you humans come up with a resolution? Lay down your guns, dismantle your bombs. I'm tired of having to pull off all-nighters because you damn humans keep killing each other! It's senseless! This world has become a slaughterhouse!
People say death does not have any feelings, that death is merciless and reaps human souls for his own enjoyment. But I do have feelings... I cringe when children get slaughtered and I have to cover my ears when the innocent die excruciating deaths. I can't help it when people murder each other. It's not my fault that humans like to kill each other. I'm a collector and I have to do my job.
5 seconds. I gazed at Roger M. Paxton's ruddy face. He had a light beard and his blue eyes were rigid with vigilance. I could already hear his widow weeping, his children wailing, his friends moaning. I wish I could do something to save him. I wish I could tell him that it wasn't his fault that he ended up in this hellhole and that he was going to a much better place soon. I wish I could take the lives of the men who wage these wars and sign the damn contracts that send thousands of young men to their imminent doom instead.
Paxton does not deserve to die. He has a family. He has a life. He has a soul. But do the big men care? To them, Paxton is merely a sacrificial pawn. His existence is irrelevant because his fight and his death will bring those big men their pile of dough.
2 seconds. Roger M. Paxton walked towards a garbage pile. He took out a cigarette and smoked. I shook my head sadly. The way Paxton lighted his cigarette was so casual and humane that it almost seemed inappropriate on a battlefield. He shouldn't be here. He should be playing catch with his son. He should be making love to his wife. What is a great man like Paxton doing here?
12:35. Things moved in slow motion. The ground beneath Paxton's feet shook and burst forth with tremendous force. Dust and debris kicked upwards like a spewing volcano. Objects within the proximity of the explosion were torn apart and Paxton's body vaporized into thin air. I stepped into the smoke and dust and got hold of Paxton's arm. He was safe with me. He could rest now. He could say goodbye to this wretched world and the wretched men who killed him. He could embrace me. He could love me. He could sleep forever and rest in peace. I wished to have a chat with Paxton, but I had more clients to take care of. So I left Paxton to go on his way and set off to my new destination. After this I would have to race to the other side of the world to take care of more clients...sigh. The list never ends. It goes on forever and ever.
And people frequently ask me if I like my job. "Sure," I say. "The pay's good and you don't have to do much."
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Laughter
I heard the laughter of children. It cured me of all my torments. My weary heart was afflicted from the day's share of malediction, but the sound of laughter of the jubilant children next door stomped out all my inner-demons. All thoughts of contempt, sadness, and anxiety vaporized. I was smiling for a change.
What is it about children's laughter that stirs up such sentimentality within the human soul? Is it the innocence and nonchalance in the laughter that puts us at ease? If everyone could laugh like a child, would the world be a better place then it seems?
Laughter indicates many things. Love, fun, merry, mockery, and even contempt. But neither mocking nor contemptuous laughter is a genuine manifestation of joy. Welcome to my world. Whenever I laugh, I'm always laughing at someone. Never with them.
Why can't I laugh so genuinely these days? When was the last time I had a good smile or a laugh about something very humorous, yet poignant at the same time? When was it when I looked at children without viewing them as mobile lumps of annoyance?
I'm just a crude person.
Whenever I laugh, it's always at something crude. Something perverse, sensual, and offensive. Why do these things bring me joy? What is there so amusing about sexism, racism, and stereotypes? Why do people ridicule things that should never be ridiculed in the first place? I am overwhelmed guilt for I laugh uproariously at these tasteless jokes.
Can't I laugh about something nice for a change? Can't I just laugh out of utter joy for no reason? Do any of the little things in life make me joyful?
I want to splash water on a friend's face and laugh about it because his wet hair makes him look like a mop. I want to pin a flower on a girl's hair while she's asleep and chuckle because it makes her resemble Anne of the Green Gables. I want to see how much of a submarine sandwich I can fit in my mouth, and then giggle uncontrollably after seeing just how much of an idiot I look like in the restaurant mirror with half the thing wedged in my mouth.
I want to learn how to laugh again. I want to learn how to laugh again. I want to learn how to laugh again.
So please laugh with me and spread the warmth in this forsaken world.
"When the drugs don't work and God doesn't respond, heed to laughter my friend. Heed to laughter."
What is it about children's laughter that stirs up such sentimentality within the human soul? Is it the innocence and nonchalance in the laughter that puts us at ease? If everyone could laugh like a child, would the world be a better place then it seems?
Laughter indicates many things. Love, fun, merry, mockery, and even contempt. But neither mocking nor contemptuous laughter is a genuine manifestation of joy. Welcome to my world. Whenever I laugh, I'm always laughing at someone. Never with them.
Why can't I laugh so genuinely these days? When was the last time I had a good smile or a laugh about something very humorous, yet poignant at the same time? When was it when I looked at children without viewing them as mobile lumps of annoyance?
I'm just a crude person.
Whenever I laugh, it's always at something crude. Something perverse, sensual, and offensive. Why do these things bring me joy? What is there so amusing about sexism, racism, and stereotypes? Why do people ridicule things that should never be ridiculed in the first place? I am overwhelmed guilt for I laugh uproariously at these tasteless jokes.
Can't I laugh about something nice for a change? Can't I just laugh out of utter joy for no reason? Do any of the little things in life make me joyful?
I want to splash water on a friend's face and laugh about it because his wet hair makes him look like a mop. I want to pin a flower on a girl's hair while she's asleep and chuckle because it makes her resemble Anne of the Green Gables. I want to see how much of a submarine sandwich I can fit in my mouth, and then giggle uncontrollably after seeing just how much of an idiot I look like in the restaurant mirror with half the thing wedged in my mouth.
I want to learn how to laugh again. I want to learn how to laugh again. I want to learn how to laugh again.
So please laugh with me and spread the warmth in this forsaken world.
"When the drugs don't work and God doesn't respond, heed to laughter my friend. Heed to laughter."
Friday, January 1, 2010
This Is It
I can never resist throwing in a Michael Jackson quote :)
This Is It
This is the start of a new year
A new decade
...And I'm sitting here, pretending to do my homework, posting, feeling bored and wishing that the new year would bring me some new inspiration or something
haha
didn't work
I've played wii until my arms lit fire
I've youtube binged for hours and hours and hours and hours
I've gone through my entire itunes library until my ears started crying
I'm like freaking j-j-jaded
My mind refuses to move
I'm like a giant fat lump sitting here, being eaten alive by boredom
and it's gonna suck even more when school starts again
OH JOY
okay well I'm back to stalking pictures of that adorable frog from princess and the frog
I'm officially in love with that movie, by the way
It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen
Makes me wish I was black haha
Really, though, what I would give to have a voice like that!
And since when were frogs that cute?? The way froggy Naveen looks at Tiana melts my heart. And he's a freaking FROG! (although Kermit is a frog and he melts my heart too...) Anyhow it's just such an adoring look that he gives her, and he has that goofy smile, and it just makes me so happy <3
Maybe all it will take to cure my zombieness is watching a few Disney movies
This Is It
This is the start of a new year
A new decade
...And I'm sitting here, pretending to do my homework, posting, feeling bored and wishing that the new year would bring me some new inspiration or something
haha
didn't work
I've played wii until my arms lit fire
I've youtube binged for hours and hours and hours and hours
I've gone through my entire itunes library until my ears started crying
I'm like freaking j-j-jaded
My mind refuses to move
I'm like a giant fat lump sitting here, being eaten alive by boredom
and it's gonna suck even more when school starts again
OH JOY
okay well I'm back to stalking pictures of that adorable frog from princess and the frog
I'm officially in love with that movie, by the way
It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen
Makes me wish I was black haha
Really, though, what I would give to have a voice like that!
And since when were frogs that cute?? The way froggy Naveen looks at Tiana melts my heart. And he's a freaking FROG! (although Kermit is a frog and he melts my heart too...) Anyhow it's just such an adoring look that he gives her, and he has that goofy smile, and it just makes me so happy <3
Maybe all it will take to cure my zombieness is watching a few Disney movies
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