(no subject)
General disgust with people isn't a happy or healthy thing. Like drugs or binge drinking, or voting or a chronic case of unpleasantness, it offers little besides a discomforting irritability that causes others to get as far away from you as possible (which might be the aim, I guess). But just like all those things, loathing can sometimes offer insight and even direction if it's used correctly and not waved in front of policemen. Because, you know, I don't necessarily hate people; I hate the things they do. Tropicana Orange Juice Blend, the sorriest-excuse-for-a-fucking-juice they suck down in the mornings on my college campus with smiles puntuated by twisty straws. It's the re-re-processed eggs that the haughty but hardly hot girls fill their stomachs with. It's the coffee. The kind that tastes like monkey shit mixed with the indigenous blood of every south hemispherean. Now I know why cigarrette habits start. I know why mine has started at least; they offer an escape to fabled flavor countries, savory republics, and nicotine-enhanced nation states. I consider all these things really to drag the attention away from myself. Away from the fact that so much makes up who I am that I must hate at least half of it, and do. Away from being the totally complete and stable person that I could be on the inside and as others see me. How fun is it after all to have these different callibured weapons under my belt? About as fun as barrelling down the highway at dangerously violent speeds and thinking, for just that one moment throughout the ride, that your mortality is the only thing that makes this stupidity worthwhile. A car accident at top speed results in billions of little pieces, but always turns out to be a single car crash- one that everyone stops to look at. It's better than apathy, I say.