| So you want reality? I�ll give you reality. You want to know what is real? I�ll tell you. Life is indeed but a dream. All we are and all we know and all we perceive to be real is but the dream of a distant lunatic. A mad dream of an insane fool who is locked away in a dark cell, sitting in his own filth as the syphilis he contracted from the cruel whore desire finally corrupts his brain, creating the paranoid illusions that we know as life. That is where we exist, that is where we are conceived, and that is where we will meet the reapers cold embrace till Cheron carries us across a river that is too deep and too wide to ever be crossed into a dream of a dream that has been twisted into a nightmare so dark that it would make the coldest reaches of unused space seem to burn like the thousand suns contained in the candle of your life which is slowly being snuffed out with every gasp of air that you take in your blind pursuit for something �real.� And the process repeats itself over and over and over again, until the fever of life freezes your heart stone and you tear at your eye sockets so you no longer have to witness yourself screaming in vain at the eternal void that will not be filled no matter what endeavors you partake in attempting to validate your existence. So you want to know about love? No one really loves anyone else. There is no love for another, only self desire. There is no true love, merely just the twisted ideal created to disguise the motivation of self-perpetuation. No one loves another, the only love is love of self and the love of the chemical reaction sparked by the touch of another which we all crave like a pathetic junkie who is willing to degrade themselves in any possible manner to acquire the next precious hit. Each and every one of us are addicted to endorphins, nothing more, but sometimes less. No love, just endorphins and the fear of being alone. No love, just fucking and grouping like the animals that we are, made only to look appealing so they can sell more greeting cards. We only stand by each other until the fix is no longer enough, and then we are gone. Those who stay do so only out of fear, not being strong enough to walk away, or due to the bleak realization that they have wasted what ever potential they once had and are no longer capable of attracting a better fix, so what is the point in leaving? We practice serial monogamy until age and lack of desire forces us to find a mate who is as scared as dying alone as we are. A cold fuck is better then none at all. Love is not a lie though, for a lie is a perversion of reality, and love never resembled existing. Love is simply an myth created to ease the guilt of those who can not accept that at the end of the day we all want to rut and fuck with great abandon like the lowest, filthiest animal whose carcass we devoured over our candle light dinner which is still rotting in our bloated intestines. I should know, it was my myth, and it�s my dream that you exist in, and I�d gladly do it again because it fucking amuses me. Any other knowledge you wish to acquire, simply look deep in my eyes and tell me what is there, I am curious to know myself. I�ll gently hold your hand while you do it, because I do love you. |