(no subject)
Here's an odd word of Vietnamese I encountered today.
(cái) thóp: the soft spot on the top of a newborn baby's head.
Makes you think, doesn't it?
But anyway..
I am he. As you are he.
And if need be, I'll be whatever you need me to be. Just be here with me.
Here at the end of all things.
It seems funny yet fitting some 1960s pop group got it. The interchangablity of all things, all creatures. All the masks we wear as silly humans, flitting about in our brief time on the ever changing stage of life.
I am he. As you are he. But you are me and we? are all together.
All together and awaiting the end, again. Again? Yes, I fear sometimes that this type of thing is a never ending cycle, and oft-repeating loop. After all it's a known fact most people are xenophobic and sedentary. They live, they die, never going more than perhaps ten miles in either direction. They fear anything even remotely different from themselves, and they watch the rest of the world with wary eyes, taking up perpetual guard duty over their tiny little sanctuaries full of the useless junk that for them passes as treasure.
If you never leave your hometown, and in turn that town succumbs to some unspeakable disaster- war, pestilence, freakish acts of nature- for you that moment IS the end of the world, is it not? Nothing you know can ever be the same again, can it?
The finite cycle of walking the streets of your familiar sights are erased in one weary flick of some indifferent god's hand. How sad.
Oh, tell me you cannot smell this one coming, Silent Hill! I can, and I am not even from your dreary berg, I merely find myself squatting in it.
But then, I am the Prophet Charisma. If nothing else we need must not remember our most cherished names and at one time that was all I was- Charisma, the King of the Shadows. The executor of random revenge upon Port Island's hapless populi. The be-crier of Nyx. The founding father of the revolution! against the Kirijou and all their pestilent pals.
I do not forget even in moments of most tender love or the deepest of fear awaking as I do from the nightmares this town imparts, yet still I do not forget. I know who I am.
Goo goo ga joob, children.
(cái) thóp: the soft spot on the top of a newborn baby's head.
Makes you think, doesn't it?
But anyway..
I am he. As you are he.
And if need be, I'll be whatever you need me to be. Just be here with me.
Here at the end of all things.
It seems funny yet fitting some 1960s pop group got it. The interchangablity of all things, all creatures. All the masks we wear as silly humans, flitting about in our brief time on the ever changing stage of life.
I am he. As you are he. But you are me and we? are all together.
All together and awaiting the end, again. Again? Yes, I fear sometimes that this type of thing is a never ending cycle, and oft-repeating loop. After all it's a known fact most people are xenophobic and sedentary. They live, they die, never going more than perhaps ten miles in either direction. They fear anything even remotely different from themselves, and they watch the rest of the world with wary eyes, taking up perpetual guard duty over their tiny little sanctuaries full of the useless junk that for them passes as treasure.
If you never leave your hometown, and in turn that town succumbs to some unspeakable disaster- war, pestilence, freakish acts of nature- for you that moment IS the end of the world, is it not? Nothing you know can ever be the same again, can it?
The finite cycle of walking the streets of your familiar sights are erased in one weary flick of some indifferent god's hand. How sad.
Oh, tell me you cannot smell this one coming, Silent Hill! I can, and I am not even from your dreary berg, I merely find myself squatting in it.
But then, I am the Prophet Charisma. If nothing else we need must not remember our most cherished names and at one time that was all I was- Charisma, the King of the Shadows. The executor of random revenge upon Port Island's hapless populi. The be-crier of Nyx. The founding father of the revolution! against the Kirijou and all their pestilent pals.
I do not forget even in moments of most tender love or the deepest of fear awaking as I do from the nightmares this town imparts, yet still I do not forget. I know who I am.
Goo goo ga joob, children.