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War is roaring in my head. Peace was a rough unit of time, a domestic pleasure and an abomination. Truthful. Perceptible. Bright. Clear. Balanced. It felt lots more than just that I felt like I can feel it, all what is, guarded by the illusion – manipulation – of the gain of consciousness. Peace doesn´t adjust. It fights for itself, but bloody existential – an into the wild escaping wilderness traced by the emptiness of conception. Peace needs no order, it fights, because it is and wants to be. War kills, because of its purpose, to preserve peace. I was whistling down the road, having a shade, leaning back, enjoying the wrath of an angel´s fart – a box of booze and a stock of pot. My outside looks pretty unicorn and rainbow. My inside is walled with a shed self and a withering outline in its heart. Fighting demons and warriors, their pugnacity a twisted artifical aberration of my childhood dreams. Their faces terrifying images of my fears and lunacy. As deeper I bleed into the echo of the grotesque battering ram, hammering against my weeping walls, the urging of an evil´s hoof, I stagger down on my knees, with my head high in the corpses´ stench, the horizon an eternal twilight of doom. Pleading myself to stop, either war or peace, but living dead again. It just swells, my self is a massive attack of a bloody rag, crusty, festering, absorbing my apocalypse-dripping human side, solacing the living, warning the dead. But I won´t stop, I just won´t. I waste my land with sand and blood. My habit moans in spells. My self-perception grieves in shame. Above, smoking improbabilities, hailing blackness – and a bony unicorn biered on a gravel rainbow. As much as I despise unicorns, I don´t want to fight anymore. I don´t want to balance anymore and somehow. I don´t want to be my self, dispassionate, weak. I want to enjoy. I want to see. I want to feel like it feels to feel, which is finally the declaration of this war is about. It´s me, standing there bold and strong. It´s me, whom I am not allowed to pass. It´s me, who protects my constitution not to be interrogated and punished. Me, who fears to be weak. It´s all inside of me. I am roaring in my head. But as I was always a coward, I decided to fight and not to live. I am exhausted. I want to spit out this bloody rag, pitch and pull it around my head, like a Rambo, and show my scorn the burning dead army of unicorns and extinct rainbows what kind of a warrior I don´t have to be, presenting the rusty rims of his armour for the very last time. Big explosion. End. – Is it possible to enjoy or is it finally and always will be a joy of use. And if so not, when do I start to play instead of fight. And in case I don´t stop, why does it have to be till the last drop. I´d love to send this half impractical mankind back to the sender or world forwarder, “This is hopefully not how it was planned to work. Don´t send it back. Warranty has expired anyway. Do you have something else but not similar in stock?” No best regards, we don´t earn it. Bless consumption! If we wouldn´t be that stiff, meaning in self-love, we already have devoured ourselves accidently. We love to consume us. We are obsessed about us. We are a habit-forming creature, ensuring an infinite chain of food. We save our being by creating a pile of shit and considering it as something to look at tomorrow, just in case it is not the source of eternal life. We are all users. Once upon a time men decided to invent great machines to cover our dependency, polish its skeletal smile and tailor a downfall of deletion. A legacy of intoxication was born. Men replaced the courage to survive with the need of obedience. And it created us. Desires are based on the opportunity to fulfill it, because it is possible. No possibilities, no desires. We desire all kinds of pleasure, to serve, to save or to annihilate us, being satisfied by a moment of freedom, an heroic thought of independency. Freedom. Another loose creature, but which is stomping mankind in its artifical pattern of life, non-erasable. “Bam Bam, you are not free. What you mean to do against!” Everyone of us wants to be free and no one knows the matter in dispute, the matter in loss. – Concepts of binding us to fight against each other. Freedom needs bounds, consumption to exclude and the world to be saved, permanently. We are permanently protecting us, ourselves. I am. You are. From each other. We are the reflecting skeletal smile of a sin, which hadn´t been executed in big banging paradise, but in our image of perfection and control, an image made and supervised by us. We are exsane, banished, remnants on an intoxicated toilet brush floating into the universal infinity, declaiming and vibrating for the pleasure of self-abuse.
I need a drink.