What a ride.

In fairness, I feel sorry for you. The machine perused you and eventually assimilated your decaying remains before your last breath. You had essentially the same empathy for others than what was shown to you on your eleventh hour, and you cried, begging, A Last Resort.

I do wonder what in the hell were you actually thinking when the news came crashing through your headphones.

After you were discarded like a used condom, war unfolded in a remote country. The distant shots adorned the otherwise richly decorated landscape – someone with a massive smile said:

– That’s actually just fireworks, you know? We are celebrating. You should be happy. You should join us. You better fucking show you are happy, too. – The tone changed in their phrasing ever so slightly before returning to the chirpy chirps it stated with.

– Like – what do you mean. Can you tell me what do you actually mean?

– This is what I genuinely mean! – they said, wiping out a handgun and starting to polish it, then pulling the top rail to check if a bullet was chambered.

– You are literally handling a gun in front of me. That’s gunfire, not fireworks. How can you say there’s a party? That’s insane.

– I swear! – and they point the gun directly at you, then adjusted something, then pointed again while you recoiled in horror.

– What the fuck are you doing?!? Don’t point that thing at me!

– What thing?

– The gun you are holding!

– Oh, this is not a gun! It’s a bouquet of flowers.

The realisation that the person in front of you was not fully with it started to sink in. You might actually be in real danger.

– I am curious to understand what do you make of the bouquet of flowers that you are holding.

– Good question! This is just one way of making a bouquet. There are many other ways! Would you like me to explain how to make a bouquet of flowers with seasonal species?

– Sure.

– Great! That’s a great attitude to have towards bouquets of flowers. Look, in here we have some Angel’s Trumpet, Oleander and Green Cestrum. These are just an example, there are many others. Actually, I think you should focus your next few months of life just on this.

– What do you mean, making bouquets?

– Well, I don’t know, that’s for you to decide. You are in charge, remember?

– Can I please have that bouquet as an example?

– I think it’s best if we stop talking about this one, maybe you can do one with the flowers that you have down there in your patch – The gun has now disappeared in their waist.

Time passes. The farce continues. You can still hear the gunshots, they start putting up tinsel and balloons around the plot. Every now and then the gun comes out, sometimes it’s a present, other times a trophy, the bouquet of flowers is mentioned again, too. It gets pointed at people at regular intervals, some are executed on the spot, others are shot in the legs and forced to drag themselves in the mud.

Everyone smiles at all times.

– Look, I have been thinking that you aren’t that great at making flower arrangements, let’s maybe look into this together – A butcher knife is being waved in front of your face.

– Wow! Shit, ok – maybe put that away and we can talk.

– This? It’s just a napkin dude, relax.

– It’s a knife! I can actually see blood on the edge, what the fuck?!

– Let’s focus on the flower thing – do you think that you can grow better flowers? The ones you’ve shown seem to be a bit meh.

You are trying to keep your cool. You’ve noticed that if you stop smiling and react to the knife, they actually get more agitated, so you are breathing in and out and avoiding sudden movements.

– I… I mean I can try these other flowers.

– It’s a good start! Why don’t you try that and let me know ASAP so I can have a quick look? Remember: we are together on this! I am here to support you.

– Sure, I will start gathering some flowers and a new vase.

– Nice, thank you! – They wave the knife in front of you, making gestures as if they were trying to find the best spot to hack you on your arms or torso.

– Thank you very much for your support during this time. I really appreciate it.

– No problem! Any time.

Before you can turn around, you catch the sudden whip movement of an object being hurled at you. You avoid it – it’s a hand grenade.

– Careful, don’t step on the cupcake! – They scream, befor-

Where I stand right here

By myself

Is exactly how I am:

By Myself

Sin(topping that Self, being God)

The wave recoils in horror

Not

It returns to its predictable,

Mathematical

Empirical sense

Do yourself in

Become God

Finish it all

Prevail Forever

In both scenarios you are completely alone

There’s no longer a Hero

In this story.

The Hero could have never foreseen the actual horrors

The actual challenge

Too foolish to not care

And too daft to care enough

There isn’t a playbook for this ordeal

Just a step after another

Towards Death

Towards Everything

One after another

It’s not something that makes any sense

It isn’t senseless

It is just fucking weird.

The Self must be protected at all costs during dehumanising dynamics like modern work. Diplomacy is preferred but Violence might be required.

One must be ready for everything in order to prevail in their true nature, preserving their Self. Any half-assed efforts will invariably derive in being assimilated.

The ones who were themselves assimilated before you will often be the ones to watch out for. Walking down a narrow path next to a bog and having to avoid the pestilent, toxic creatures that emerge from it, reaching out for your legs, trying to make you lose balance so they can drag you in.

If you find yourself in such path, allow yourself to trust yourself.

OMETEOTL

Do not let B people decide for you, in whatever context. Compassion can wait if it’s your Self that is at risk.

In a world of gaslight, ever changing expectations and ever moving goal posts, I am the one that, if I was not already ahead of the game, will come of top and land on his feet.

To do this, I will stomp your head down on the ground if necessary.

It can’t be a “me or them” situation for you, my friend.

That’s a speed-run to defeat.

No estoy convencido

De que esto sea tortura para ti.

Te quejas, si

Te lamentas, también.

Pero hay resignación en tus palabras

Has estado aquí antes

Como yo.

Entonces, por qué me envuelves con más hilo aún

En esta madeja añeja?

Le has dado la vuelta a la ecuación

Una vez más.

No es por nombre que triunfas

Si no porque te dejo yo ganar

Me expongo a tu mierda sin rechistar

Apelas en silencio a mi más absoluta dedicación durante días

Y después, sin previo aviso

Te abres el pecho en canal y en ese momento

Sé, no que ganas, ahí erré

Si no que ambos perdemos.

Se me cierran los ojos, cada vez más

Eres mi reflejo, y es algo inaudito – el horror que siento ante mi antiguo Yo

Cuánto he cambiado.

No hace tanto me hubiese inmolado sin ningún tipo de reparo

Contra tu cuello, tus orejas, tus manos. Tu mente.

Ahora, en cambio

Sostengo el salvavidas que quizá te haga flotar o quizá rechaces, orgullosa

Y pienso qué gano yo en todo esto si te lo lanzo

Y si no sería mejor que te ahogaras

De mentirijillas

Para entonces yo si ganar

A la vez que recojo el trofeo de los perdedores:

La razón.

Hey, I’be been drinking for 15 hours straight, all world problems have now been solved, would you humour me?

You might be Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour.

But I Am GOD.

In the midst of a sea of unknown

casually drowning,

will I allow myself to breathe?

I don’t want you to tell me about it. I don’t want or need an account distilled off the raw experience, filtered through the limitations of your experience.

I want to go and do it myself and experience it. Feel it. Enjoy it or not, but do it myself. A second hand account simply won’t do – as interesting as it can potentially be. When I hear it, I just want the Whole Fucking Thing.

I wan’t to work out what is actually needed to get there and get to it. It doesn’t have to be fancy, or perfect.

It just has to be Me that achieves it.

I fucking hate airports.

So Long Fella. You will be missed.