It was a fairly dark night. Some cries of coldness have invaded my ears. I’ve never ask myself why so dark nights are always so cold. Winter stroke the surroundings in a way a desperate wolf would. I strolled down the streets looking at people, who were walking in futile pointless ease. I pull myself all together, kneeling my head, sheltering my chin into my collar. It was too cold to get my hands out of my pockets to light up a cigarette. It’s the perfect weather for smoking, that’s what I’ve said to myself.
I let my legs taking me to that public garden. It was ironic, and impulsive—to be honest—how I appeared to the passersby. A jerk who’s sitting on a public garden’s bench in such weather. There was a café on the other bank before me. I didn’t knew why I didn’t sat there. Just I made it here.
Through a lousy glass window I could see a couple whom were drinking some hot drinks. They are such devoted lovers to hang out during the infuriating skies. A sudden desire has overpowered me to write down anything. I thought to run to the café, asking for a pen and a sheet of paper, but I knew am empty, exhausted, ruined. Nothing would come to rest down my lust for writing dim dreams about imaginary characters.
I was supposed to feel lonely and isolated. however, for my surprise, I’ve felt a bit excited. That weather usually holds my breath. It could be so, but either I was in the quite mood for something else. I was sitting here, on the public garden, on that late time, like a horrendous wretched ghost. Me who is 27 year old shadow, with a receding hair and two fish eyes knocking off that awkward buzz of universe chaos with tranquility. Tranquility of having nothing to lose. Nothing to owe. Nothing to protect. That serenity of having no lower bottom degree to continue falling. There’s no bitter hell. Am floating on the river of absolute failure on the borders of madness. I feel no fear.
Why should I?!
All these people walking here and there are waiting for something. Thinking about something; am not. Am sitting on physics’ paradise lost: The Static Absolute Stillness, the very nightmare people are terrified from. They wanna be active, wanna be energetic, wanna be dynamic. They told them in schools and institutes how to act like so. Art of being POSITIVE. They may understand they fear that everlasting waiting and they struggle to break it up, to get what they want with no such burden. They are destroying themselves on the divine alter of none-stopping festival.
They don’t want them turning to pathetic wino who’s hitting the streets enveloped with madness—that’s in softest course ever.
Am not waiting for anything.
So that I can sit in such weather or wander down the city streets in slow, confident steps. They are all running besides me, adding more traces to the cosmic maze. They are fragile. They are mortals, not only by body but with soul as well. They are hurrying up their lives, fearing of a sudden dead end while standing in the row. Waiting to get promoted, waiting to get beloved, waiting to get fed, waiting to get a bigger apartment, waiting for the payment, waiting for the kids, waiting for the boss, waiting for the bus, waiting for the mail, waiting for the phone call.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
I don’t fear The End, because there isn’t any.
End is illusion just as the beginning. It’s like a universal clothesline they all hanging from, letting their dirty souls watering into the divine space of eternity. By human paltry understanding, vanishing is an equal to end. That’s a comprehensive blasphemy coming out of the marvelously darn donkeys’ ‘minds’. Vanishing is transforming, just as the entire, collective processes in the universe. So that divine critical effort to gain the ultimate amount possible of pleasure out of life is such a genuine entertainment to watch. Some people believed that they would go either to hell or paradise after The Judgment Day, where they would rest forever in a smooth divine prosperity, or in an everlasting satanic rivers of hungry bitter fire. Those are representing the first simple parody which raises smiles upon our lips. On the other hand, Most people believe, or doubt, that there’s nothing after Death. So they are trying to face it with hearts in which had had collected every single beam of joy and ecstasy, while they still thirst ever. They are representing the second complex stage of parody in which we could lay on floor due to brutal laughing. They are doomed to continue what they always treasured. They are cursed to encounter that lovely sweet race again and again. They’d be happy if they realize that fact but, afterward, they will be in panic.
Again and again and again. All over again.
Eternity is not a prize for gods and saints, it’s a play they are enjoying. They are shoving people—the free-willed puppeteers—into it with a great delight.
No, thanks. I don’t wanna be a part of that. I don’t wanna sink in the flood of waiting-act-waiting formula which have ruled the human race since Adam. Am not like them. Am myself and myself only. Let’s receive the new era—aka end—with a reckless soul. It won’t bother me. Living or not. Having or not. Loving or not. I don’t care.
It seemed like it gone wormer. I heard a bulbul singing, drifted by the wind which became gentler. I looked to the restaurant, I didn’t found the couple lovers. They must have been left for a worm bed. I felt my muscles leisurely slackened bit by bit. It was like I could sleep where I was, but I pull myself together and stood up with some difficulty. I shock then nodded my head in a nervous way to wake myself up a bit. I coughed slightly then began to walk away, heading my gloomy nasty shit hole.