"From the darkness, sleeping light." Formerly luminus dormiens. Lux pacis, light of peace.

Quote: "Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us." --Bill Watterson, cartoonist, Calvin and Hobbes


Lies to Bleed for

I went to Fry's, a privately owned electronics company, to buy a pack of floppy disks with my mother. While she was away to look at some videos, I had the galling chance--while carrying the pack of disk in my arm--to run into some tall black and mexican, disgusting black and disgusting mexican, it is against them that I feel such sympathy for the whites. Though it is against these digusting, vile, hateful, white supremacists that I feel sympathy for no one but the people of good nature.

Why do I feel such hate? Let me explain, and you shall note how little this thing should matter, but you must understand, that in my perception, it matters my life.

I was just walking by checking the aisle, when I heard something of a remark that was said to me. I could not hear what they said, and they kept pointing at my feet or something. I looked down and looked back curious at what they find so attractive about me.

Then they looked away and I knew at the point that they were just "picking on me," an apt phrase of the aptest mind.

I felt so powerless because I didn't hear what they said. I felt so powerless because I fell for their tricks. I felt so powerless because I could not simply attack, or verbal assert myself, or do anything against them. I felt so powerless because I had no support. I felt so powerless, as any minority would, against the dark beings that would abuse this power. I felt so powerless that I felt within me a rage that only those of victims and of masculine energy could feel.

But I suppressed this rage. I held it down, and now this rage is fomenting. I must sleep on this rage, or otherwise I will find myself unable to sleep. I must push it aside so that tomorrow I will think about it and consider it almost childish, as I always had every single time that an anger has happened to me. Like Homer Simpson, I was simply feeling priggish.

But then, I am not sleeping now, and I am still wondering what that black man had said. The childish, fiendish, Christian, bandana wearing, racist little-on-the-inside thug, who actively seek support from his troupe of also-thugs, from Mexico, from Guatemala, from Panama, from those mulattoes of Spanish and Native/Aztec/Mayan origins. They don't deserve to live, and they don't deserve to go to heaven.

Whether or not I believe in heaven obviously situates a belief in whether I should dole out God's justice upon man...

After all, if reincarnation is possible, or if that when we die, our consciousnesses join the larger consciousnesses, where do these thugs of testicles-deprived, for whom I would not care a thistle if they had not taken this split in the space-time continuum in that particular space, in that particular time, in that particular meeting of the consciousness, go? Where indeed? For if I am to join with these thugs in the larger consciousness, I would sooner annihilate the world.

I am young, and I am male. I am short-tempered, easy to provoke to purplish rage. I have not reached, nor do I intend to, the state of enlightenment that allow me to forgive, accept, and transcend suffering and evil. Indeed, that is where the hearts of humans lie. The callous nature with which he simply picked me out as a target, where he couldn't care less about me, and decide to treat me with the same treatment as a playful boy would putting a solution of NaCl upon an earthworm.

Salt on an earthworm. Who let these men breed? Why does God put me upon this fragile earth to find them so attractive, so bringing up such hormonal charge, that I cannot be but victim to the senses of eyes, noses, skins, tongues, and ears? I should not dare to exclude women for fear of being sexist, or perhaps even, feminist. It is an unfortunate thing that women are weaker to men no matter how much they try to deny this fact. Otherwise, why hear we so little of them? Why do they tolerate such evils?

For there is an evil, whether they can by psychology be explained, by science be eradicated, that exists always, that cannot be forgiven. For there is an evil that must suffer, for there is an evil that must be isolated, put into jail, destroyed, killed, tortured, knived, stabbed, suffocated, jagged, electrocuted, paper-slit, exposed to all the virulent infections of the history of humankind.

Therein lie the rub. For if I should so think such violent thought upon which I could place a simple-minded man, what is to differentiate me from them? What is there to separate me from Hitler? For Hitler did so hate the Jews, or his perception of them as business-owners, money-grubbers, greedy thieves, that with his charms, he won over the country of Germany, and his party of Nazis, and invaded many European countries through which he could impose his hatred of the Jews and the "final solution" that would so become the polarizing point of the world, in other words, Israel.

Having watched the development of my argument from discussing the nature of a girlfriend-less thug to the nature of man to my violent desire against them to finally Hitler and Israel, I must remark that my mind is my mind is my mind.

In other words, the point was that we must tolerate to the best extent other people. The world is far too complex a place to ever be able to ascertain who was right or wrong.

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