I will wait out/ until my thighs/ are steeped/ in burning flowers
It shouldn't take such pain to get through life. Athiesm never seemed so appealing as it does now. If God existed, how could such pain as is manifest everywhere be possible?
And you can't say it's humanity's fault. It isn't. People do what they have to. People do the best thing available at the moment. People do what they do because they get caught up; holding us responsible for our atrocities is one thing, holding us responsible for being born into the horrific world is another.
Being born into the crumbling, crushing wheels of capitalism made me a monster. I kill the earth with every press of the pedal, I rape the mother with every cup I throw away, I slaughter a thousand unborn with my convenience.
But how can you hold a person responsible for doing what everyone else does? I can't help but escape the idea that our numbers make us inculpable--peer pressure is one thing, the vice-grip of planetary conformity is another. I couldn't stop this wheel if I tried. Not with a hundred people, not with a thousand. Perhaps tens of thousands, definitely millions could end it; yet why haven't they yet? Because it is so heavily improbable that it's nearly impossible.
You can't point fingers unless you have 8 billion fingers to point with. Can you blame a cat for toying with mice before killing them? Can you blame the fox for chewing off its own foot to escape the trap? Can you blame the overweight cashier-lady with six kids for voting for Bush because she's lived her whole life understanding only what she's told?
We're animals. We're a natural force. An imbalance, but an inevitability. Our destruction is not a problem; problems have solutions. Our destruction is.
Accept it.
And you can't say it's humanity's fault. It isn't. People do what they have to. People do the best thing available at the moment. People do what they do because they get caught up; holding us responsible for our atrocities is one thing, holding us responsible for being born into the horrific world is another.
Being born into the crumbling, crushing wheels of capitalism made me a monster. I kill the earth with every press of the pedal, I rape the mother with every cup I throw away, I slaughter a thousand unborn with my convenience.
But how can you hold a person responsible for doing what everyone else does? I can't help but escape the idea that our numbers make us inculpable--peer pressure is one thing, the vice-grip of planetary conformity is another. I couldn't stop this wheel if I tried. Not with a hundred people, not with a thousand. Perhaps tens of thousands, definitely millions could end it; yet why haven't they yet? Because it is so heavily improbable that it's nearly impossible.
You can't point fingers unless you have 8 billion fingers to point with. Can you blame a cat for toying with mice before killing them? Can you blame the fox for chewing off its own foot to escape the trap? Can you blame the overweight cashier-lady with six kids for voting for Bush because she's lived her whole life understanding only what she's told?
We're animals. We're a natural force. An imbalance, but an inevitability. Our destruction is not a problem; problems have solutions. Our destruction is.
Accept it.