A stranger and pestilent world man endeavours to live.
Its performance.
Its will.
Its superiority.
A world invented as world.
Installed by humanity.
A cruel dream of equality.
Maintained by fear and power.
And every day this world, mounting ruins one by endless, cripples a bit more into an absurd and useless expectation of life.
With each human suffering.
With each human murdered.
Slaughtered.
Ripped apart.
With each being extinguished.
Erased.
Marched out.
Forgotten.
With each life being executed by our hilarious artifical intelligence, proclaimed by the grandness man failed to deserve. The heroism, narrated in the name of gods and demons, man needs to believe in.
And again I ask the question, how can you speak of happiness. How can you expect happiness. How can you dare to demand happiness. You want to believe in hope. You want to believe there is love which saves the world. You believe instead of looking the other way, looking into your guilt. And your selfishness you are told to be entitled to and to protect by all means, capitalistic, nationalistic, racist, fascistic, misanthropical. Capture your flag. You choose to believe, because it consoles your pain, your hoplessness, your helplessness. It is about you. Who told you to pretend being you, this, someone. Who told you to privilege yourself.
No, there is no right to demand happiness. The world is at war, you shall be at war, with yourself.
We are all soldiers.
And happiness a furlough.
