Chapter 1-War-Like Reality
I feel the wall in your mind already building, you’re separating yourself from me. There’s a list in your head that keeps getting bigger as you pick out the differences between yourself and my ridiculously normalized rage. Trying to assure your own sanity, but oddly enough, not trying to come up with excuses for mine.
I’m doing the same to you right now. I’m making sure that I’m the opposite of you, but only in the way that I am truthful about who I am. The only real difference between us is our honesty to ourselves, and I think you are lacking in that incredibly important category.
Of course, you don’t have to listen to me. I’m no more important than that nagging voice inside of your head that forces you to wonder what would happen if you killed your boss. The voice that asks you how hard it would be to bite off your neighbors ring finger and pawn it with the wedding band still attached if he pokes you in the chest one more time for your dog pooping on his perfectly manicured lawn. God knows that that asshole has nothing else to do with his life but take care of plants since his 20-something plaything of a wife refuses to put out anymore, I would know.
The fact of the matter is that you worry about your own insanity or ‘lack there of’ but have no real revelations about the fact that I (and many people like me) exist on this earth to spread our awareness of the carnage we humans were meant to create.
That is where I find the beauty in war, I see it as the release every human should have a right to enjoy and feel in a way so intimate with yourself that you can hear your heart beating amidst the startling chaos of battle. To feel the beauty of seeing the souls of your victims in their wide and eternally surprised eyes.
That’s yet another thing that I don’t get, if they are in war and they see the severity of it, why are they shocked to end up at the end of their supposed journey? Maybe because no one thinks it would be them, because we’re all conditioned to think that we are the main characters of the story. The sad truth is that we are only the main characters of our own story, no one else’s and certainly not the worlds.
But that won’t be me.
I refuse to stop here at this dismal excuse of a successful life. What can I truly do here if not kill until I myself fall victim of my own shot?
I will not fall by the hands of a lowly mortal. I am worth so much more than someone who refuses to give themselves to what they truly are, to what I am: pure unadulterated fear. I don’t distract from the thing that drives me, but it seems like the rest of our secretly uncivilized civilization pretends that in the dream world we all coexist in, love rules our hearts and therefore rules our world.
Get a fuckin’ grip on reality, our hearts pump the same blood that will soon run cold in our veins, it doesn’t run the whole universe you inbred piece of shit!
Reality says that you need to face the truth, because it’s not just kids that have an imagination on steroids. Fantasy is for adults too, they just fantasize about different things; maybe they think about getting a promotion at work, or having a family one day, or getting hit by a bus because they can’t stand to file another piece of meaningless paperwork without running into the street with the intention of killing themselves.
The kids of the world think a bit differently except, the strange thing is, they’re actually on to something. Instead of the "reality" stuff that adults think about, children somehow find a way to fear what should actually be feared.
Like the dark, or the monsters under your bed. You know, the ones that climb through your ears and plant eggs in your brain.
Don’t grow out of that fear, don’t forget about those seemingly pointless little things that kept you awake at night. Every fiction has its base in fact, and there’s a reason that we’re all afraid of the dark. We are scared of things through trial and error, evolution if you will. I’m about to talk a little sciencey here so pay attention.
Our basic human instincts come from our ancestors, what our brains tell us to fear is something that the first people learned to fear. Through evolution did we keep those mindsets and ideas of certain dangers that kept the choice few alive. If we learnt to fear things through what our ancestors feared and sometimes died from, why do we have this constant fear of things such as the seemingly impossible and incredibly unlikely? Maybe as a child you were closer to the real world because you were more open to the dangers of it. Realizing your helplessness will do that to you, sadly adults like to believe that they have a say in how the world ends up.
I hope I didn’t lose you, there’s a point to all of this. In order to get me, in order to get my ideology, you must first understand that I believe that the basic human nature of kill or be killed should not be held back by petty human laws and whatnot. We should be free, truly free.
You think we have freedom now? Freedom is the act of being free to choose what you want to do right?
True freedom is being able to do anything without facing consequences from a higher power, right? Does that sound like something we have? Ask the cop who pulls you over next week for speeding whether or not you are actually free to do anything.
Of course, they’d pull out the ‘it actually says that you're free to do anything as long as it doesn’t harm anybody.’
As long as it doesn’t harm anybody
As long as it doesn’t harm anybody?
So we’re not truly free then. How do you feel about that? It’s a straight up lie, we aren’t really free.
But I am.
I can kill anyone. When I’m on the battlefield, there’s no fighting the malicious maniac inside my head that chants death through my mind like fireworks in the night sky on the fourth of July.
I’d like to think that I beat the system, but what can I say, human nature always finds a way, and it always wins.