Will I ever forget to Remember
A life and world of odd propaganda and bizarre idealism
And so we open this monologue with profundity, a pseudo-masochistic declaration: I’m ludicrously pathetic.
The Art of opinionating, of which, I am not an authority on.
This world, it is a lost cause, no longer a feasible host to our parasitic race, and in the face of such a future, we must turn, and bestow our gratitude to the revelries of science. On the hunched back of science we have scaled the mount of decadence. The primordial soup from which life was derived, is now how life is lived and sustained. Yes, to you Monsieur evolution, I bow, a world of gnarled webs you weave, to capture and sadistically wallow in the debauchery of man’s heart.
Evolution - the single most destructive force in this world. To ye who may stumble upon this, I pity you for coming here. And pray the short termed amnesia will overcome you, that you may forget the vitriolic and acerbic bile and loathing that is unleashed here. That stems from hope. Hope that the life which I live has a meaning and purpose other than survival. That the soul here can live in peace, not a physical euphoria, but a quiet powerful calm. That the soul is not condemned to ever yearn to be free from the vile stench of the world’s profligacy. That the heaven for which every soul searches for could also be found here.
Yes Monsieur Evolution - you grim reaper of hopes and dreams. Plagiarizing the lives of men and beast. This is no tragedy, nor a travesty, not a horror at which we would shirk and disdain, but a pity. A crime which calls for compassion, because a world, in which evolution has reached its zenith, is not a utopian world of joy and rejoicing. But a world in which souls of men will constantly weep.
And so we open this monologue with profundity, a pseudo-masochistic declaration: I’m ludicrously pathetic.
The Art of opinionating, of which, I am not an authority on.
This world, it is a lost cause, no longer a feasible host to our parasitic race, and in the face of such a future, we must turn, and bestow our gratitude to the revelries of science. On the hunched back of science we have scaled the mount of decadence. The primordial soup from which life was derived, is now how life is lived and sustained. Yes, to you Monsieur evolution, I bow, a world of gnarled webs you weave, to capture and sadistically wallow in the debauchery of man’s heart.
Evolution - the single most destructive force in this world. To ye who may stumble upon this, I pity you for coming here. And pray the short termed amnesia will overcome you, that you may forget the vitriolic and acerbic bile and loathing that is unleashed here. That stems from hope. Hope that the life which I live has a meaning and purpose other than survival. That the soul here can live in peace, not a physical euphoria, but a quiet powerful calm. That the soul is not condemned to ever yearn to be free from the vile stench of the world’s profligacy. That the heaven for which every soul searches for could also be found here.
Yes Monsieur Evolution - you grim reaper of hopes and dreams. Plagiarizing the lives of men and beast. This is no tragedy, nor a travesty, not a horror at which we would shirk and disdain, but a pity. A crime which calls for compassion, because a world, in which evolution has reached its zenith, is not a utopian world of joy and rejoicing. But a world in which souls of men will constantly weep.