What sickly-sweet nightmares the living breath brings. That our darkest hours should also be our greatest is perhaps the essence of what it is to be human; then again, perhaps not. My drug-addled brain rarely can distinguish what is truth and fact from falsehoods and lies. I look fondly back upon days when my brain was not the pickled and shriveled thing it now seems to be. At the same time, all I see is ignorance in those memories; it's certainly true that ignorance is bliss. It's also weakness, and the weak are crushed or used by the strong as the strong should see fit. Such are the facts of life, or possibly just more lies.
Like I said, it's hard for me to tell anymore.
People like to talk about the excellence of peace, but the simple truth is that warfare has done so much more for the human race. Peace is a malaise of progress, no better than the aformentioned bliss. And death? The inevetible bi-product of war? I'm not qualified to speak on death. Then again, I'm hardly qualified (If such qualifications can be achieved) to speak on the human condition; yet I do. With that in mind I will explain my opinions on death.
Common philosophies on death can be seperated, rather easily, into two camps: firstly, those who believe that death is the end of all things. The true antithesis of life. Nothing but nothingness. And consequently, it can be decided that there is no point to this life: for if, when we die, we cease to exist, then what purpose in furthering our mortal experience? Indeed; if there is nothing after life, then we should all commit suicide and be done with the entire thing. And yet! And yet we persist; we cling to life, whether or not we as individuals believe in an afterlife.
It is for this reason I believe there [i]is[/i] an afterlife; for if there was not, nothing would exist; for there would be no purpose to it's existence. To be fair, that which makes sense to me rarely is qualified in the thoughts of others; I expect that these words shall be recieved no differently. For the sake of this prose, let us suppose I am right. That because life exists, it must have a purpose. The key of course, is understanding what that purpose is. This I cannot answer, and it's quite possible that the answer should vary from person to person. I simply do not know.
They pound upon my door now; proclaiming their self-given titles. As if they mean something to me. Their authority means nothing here. Why do the bother with pretenses, I wonder? I think it is for their own consciouss'; they need to validate their own acts, even if nobody else believes it. Idiocy. No, more than that; insanity. If there is such a thing as evil in this world, it is them. The self-righteous protectors, who force people to do things for their own good. I ramble; but that is all I have done. It is all I can do.
The idiots; their greatest weaknes is their pride. They assume they are the elite, the ingenious- and that anyone who opposes them are idiots. The first of the booby traps has gone off; a simple device consisting of string, the contents shotgun shells, and some matches in a coffee can. If luck is on my side, I killed one or two; more likely their body armor protected them from the pellets. Still, it will give them pause. And now I must away, to write another day.
