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Growing up I was made fun of. A lot. I never truly understood why this was. Why was I being made fun of for simply for being myself? I followed the rules, I stayed out of people's ways, I tried to treat others the way I wanted to be treated but despite all this they hurt me. Bastards. Their insults got to me, as did their fists and kicks, as they are wont to do. It hurt more because I was just a kid, and I didn't understand why this was. If it was appearance, it was unfair that among the other lanky kids with glasses I was the only one to be singled out.

As I went through school, I was still made fun of, and a target for bigger bullies. The insults hurt less but the physical pain hurt a bit more. I remember I confronted one once. I asked him if I had ever done anything to him to warrant such idiotic behavior from him. He said he picked on me just for the sake of doing it. What the fuck did I ever do to him? Nothing. If I had done something to slight him then there might have been a tiny pebble of justification for being a jerk to me, but since there wasn't I'm just baffled. How does one push someone else around "just because"? This is madness!

I embarrassed him once the following year in front of our class. He couldn't walk the walk and I felt a slight peace as he sat there baffled and gathering anger. Of course that didn't stop him from confronting me later that day, when I was alone. I didn't back down and nothing happened. He just stopped. After that, I was still made fun of but I had already begun building up this shoddy shield that kept out most of the sting and injury of my environment.

Stuff still got through but it hurt way less, for the most part. What this did to me was make me strange, angry, and jolly above all. I'm not actually bitter, though I have these moments of "This prick¹ is really THAT sweet² guy?"

I blame those vile fucked up jars called people.

They bring out the worst in me by projecting their insecurities onto me. I'm not a bitter person by nature. Though rumors have it that I'm a very angry person. I sincerely doubt that. Or I'm in denial about my anger. Let's hope I never get blasted with gamma radiation. But yes, I'm not a bitter person by nature.

I can't say the same for others but they make me angry through their bitterness, those incorrigible fiends! Incapable of respect, concern, being considerate or being human! It's people like these who make this world a terrible place and fuck it up for the rest of us. They demand and take too much. Rarely giving far too little or just nothing at all.

I'm trying my best not to lose my temper. "All I wanna do is walk the stupid path of peace" as that old Mad TV sketch with Will Sasso (as Steven Seagal) and David Carradine goes.

Ah.

¹ Prick is an insult, obviously. And a term reserved for someone who behaves indecorously.
² I've been described positively as many things. Sweet is one of them.

Parasites vs People

People are empty jars riddled with holes. Try as you might to fill them up with knowledge, love, attention, etc they'll never be satisfied or full or complete or anything of the sort. When you can't fill them with anything (for reasons that may be beyond your control), they'll respond with emptiness and a cold but quiet anger of sorts. This seems to seep into your mind and cause damage ranging from a minor itch to "Jesus fucking Christ! This is fucking painful!"

Of course, that first statement isn't entirely correct. Most people are those fucked up jars. There are obviously exceptions, though, in my experience, they are far too rare and often go unnoticed. These are the kinds of people that make life worthwhile and pleasant.

I'd like to be able to filter out those fucked up jars who demand too much and take everything but give too little too rarely or just give nothing at all. Unfortunately, one will have to deal with these parasites until everyone is enlightened, or until the world ends. The latter being more likely. A shame, isn't it?

The Emerald Ivory Figure's Fine Grasp and the Deathblow

An ivory gleaming being
cloaked in bitter cloth
marching beside you
arrests your mind's attention
telling you all sorts of sweet bitter things
showing a crumbling palace splendor and glee
hiding something sinister underneath
that faint and twisted smile.

"Have a smoke, or a drink.
Come. Sit with me."
A table rises from thin air
a siren's song beckons you to sit there
to sip at expiry.

Your head yells at you
but you don't listen

"Her gaze is steady and cruel.
Her aim is straight and true.
She'll land the deathblow upon poor miserable you."

Something of hers touches you
your heart flutters with venom and vice
and beautiful visions that are lovely and false but nice.

Your mind bends and melts
She says nothing.
She doesn't smirk.
Her eyes return a vacant gaze at you.

That foul and beautiful enchantress

the deathblow.

inexplicable beauty of butchery
and flowers
and sweet things.

The ivory figure marches on.
Her gait draws your eyes to her
as she walks with another poor soul

You know his end all too well
you know she'll send him to a bitter happiness: hell.

Her hauntingly beautiful gait beckons you to rise
and fall.