The Torment of Dissatisfaction

A planet of sorrows it truly is. Full of despair despite our efforts at candied decadence. Giving fat pigs and hideous hippos makeovers in attempting to create more and more beauty like never before seen, and if you squint or otherwise inebriated, they look beautiful to in some kind of way. Unique combinations of flavors and styles to be unlike what has been before because that flavor was created in someone’s kitchen a milliniuem ago, to create a dress that was never worn or sewn together in such a way. Directionless passion spilling over into the beds of multiple lovers and lips that smile at the moment but frown the next day. A contest of hearts that will never be won by any human, as the standards keep rising as the celebrity holds the expectations in their palms. Rather nonchalantly, they are the model for the scores we keep on each other, even though we each have a different game system. We so want to trades hands at the table, not knowing that if you did, you’d immediately wish for your own back, at least you knew how you going to play since they were your cards after all. Even the tarot will show you the same cards because destiny isn’t so easily changed by a few shuffles of hand. We face each other with kindness or cruelty, varying on the scale of neutrality. Should the other decide to push in one direction, their are the 3 options of how to respond, kindly, cruelly or indifferently. Indifference on its own can be extremely cruel, having no empathy would make you a shell of a human, at least cruelty expresses something that can be related to another person. We wish to always be kind to each other but how can we be with the cruel indifference of western civilization. The cruelty shown to other people as the European chased curiosity and the curse of the 7 sins ensnared them with the passion of materialist gains. The uncaring force that churns along with the globe enslaved to it mechanisms.

When the Empire had gained all the treasures of the world, the knowledge, the allies and worship, it could never have what it truly needed. The emperor would not know Love as he thought himself deserving of it for his riches and grand temples, yet how could anyone truly love a cruel man who stamped unforgivingly on others to climb the ladder in attempt to wrestle with God for dominion. A small mind thinking that his own ill gotten glory would be worthy of the opposing unconditional gentleness of a Woman. However he would not be able to gratify her either with his immense stature. The princess who is lavished in all things beautiful. Sweet flowers, musky incense, crisp ripe fruits, masterfully crafted pastries and dresses in the softest fabrics. These would appease her girlish senses, never to have a finger of harm laid on her, only for the first case of heartbreak to completely shatter her. Her prince charming would never come to lay down in a bed of rose petals while they read poetry in the gentle sunlight and dance nude by the creek under the cozy moon. The young and beautiful were so consumed by their own beauty and wished that all becomes like them. However they know that they will not even be as beautiful as they were last year. The fortunate are beautiful for a long time or they become master deceivers to the spirit of aging. The youth wish it were true and believe in it so hard, so instead they follow in the footsteps of Mr. Gray. Attempting to be be immortal and spiraling headfirst into a tragic tale.

Hollywood doesn’t romanticize simple life of settling and raising a family. It takes true bravery to look death in the face. Some are brave or have deceived themselves into the roles of marriage and good society. While always looking over the fence at the singles who mingle, the parade of beautiful youth who have only just fallen off the tree and shouting “pick me I am ripened, hurry before I spoil,” Some of these fruits are already spoiled, sour with the bile of aristocracy or a rotten core from a depraved childhood, some laced with addictive traits that drive you mad once you have devoured the entire morsel and you hunger again for that same taste that will never be replicated. You might think you can find another just like it or even a combination will create the same profile, but it will not be the same. The shows, pictures and novels take only one drop of this nostalgia and it brings up those fluttery wings of that old butterfly in your gut that recognizes that scent. the synthetic smell kills it though, and your heart goes dark. Now you will even try the taste of blood to attempt to revive that oversaturated gland, its receptors dulled and unresponsive to any stimulation no matter how unique or intense or beautiful or ugly. You will wish you savored the juice of that pomegranate instead of rushing through expecting another blossom in your lifetime to produce such a perfect creation. At least their are those who know the taste of true delight. Other fear it and face a horrible fate just as equally. Those who just took whatever rolled right up to them and figured that lack of effort was fate working in your favor not realizing it was a test of your resolve. When you bit into that sour rotten apple, you thought maybe it was just that side so try another bite and it’s still just as bad. you get halfway finished and you say might as well eat the whole thing, you were going to get sick anyway from the first bite. Little did you know the antidote was in the fruit that rolled up behind you but you walked away without so much as glance back even though you felt the faint touch on the back of your heel. Ignoring your intuition to rationalize the decision you already made, even though you know it’s bad for you on all other levels, you just assume you’re meant to endure this thinking a golden apple will drop right on your head before you take the final bite of poison. The dangers of romance will have youths drinking poison in a frenzy and the old straddling a cliffside behind a waterfall.

The search for joy highjacked with a box cutter and metal satellites. The Old Ones had to have known joy, there’s memories of the times before the romance when simple delights were the norm and coins didn’t determine that fact. beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and entire nations had a similar eye. The beauty explored in the great writers of the west must also lament that it was this same society that stole it from them and resold a fancified version at an inflated cost. Propaganda tricks us out of our liberty like a back alley shell game. A forgery of a great classic can only be shown in dim lighting, it is the only the owner can feel proud of his façade. You cannot find actual joy in the great demon arts, your heart would have to be contorted into a monstrous thing. Joy in Wrath is the warlord who can never come home for his bloodthirst would harm those actually dear to him. Joy cannot be with Envy as desire for everything will overwhelm you until become an extreme neurotic fussing about how one strand of hair isn’t wavy like the one next to it. Joy is certainly not in Lust because pleasure is only an imitation and overindulgence leads to overdose. You cannot be Greedy for Joy, Joy is infinite and you will never have it because you can’t sacrifice a single thing. How can you be happy and Slothful? You may enjoy the sounds of nature just laying still there, but lay too long and the earth and her creatures will devour your joyous coma. You may think Pride is the ultimate Joy, loving only the things you do but no person will be able to love you as much. A Glutton wouldn’t even know they had Joy because they would consume it like another candy and liking the taste of it seeks overeat until they burst.

There is really only a few conclusions of these obvious Truths.

If we are only here to suffer, we could attempt with moral ethics and virtue to alleviate the pain of maturation. Altruism out of goodness, kindness and automatic forgiveness of the familiar pain that is evenly distributed across the globe. Shake off those arrows and keep aiming for the bullseye and training the youth better with each new technique discovered, rather rediscovered because the ancients seemed to hit it just right a few times.

If we are only here to suffer, we become cruelly indifferent and let the dragon devour us all. Might as well with all the other pains of growing, just scorch the whole earth so nothing grows again so it doesn’t have to bother with being born and dying. It is why the rose growing in a sidewalk crack amazes us, why bother you beautiful thing to grow up in such a harsh place where you’ll get trampled, plucked for someone’s momentary bouquet or just death from eventual atrophy. It all leads to that mysterious other side that fills us with apprehension, not living. Not an easy position to hold when you’re already alive so you have to finish this while preaching no more life. Suicide and abortion are depressing morbid attempts at controlling the natural flow of creation, and it has only to led to more suffering despite claiming the opposite in the act. Lining up to be devoured by Saturn, rushing out of our mother’s arms too quickly to be crunched up and swallowed into everlasting darkness.

This is all if we are ONLY here to suffer…

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