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| I'm sitting here, in my room, with the television waiting to numb my mind as soon as I've finished this column. There's an invention that had potential, until people got to it.
Let me be frank. I hate people sometimes. For all my idealism, for all my hopes in the goodness of mankind, I can't stand the bastards.
The callousness. The desire for unjust vengeance. The little cyclones of destruction people become each and every time they enter any kind of relationship with another.
The more I learn, the more I learn that the best traits in man take a lifetime to develop, while the worst sit waiting like volcanic pistols, locked, cocked and ready to rock.
That's why writing this column is so easy. That's why for every word you're reading there are a thousand more on how much the world sucks. Because those are the guns I've had loaded my whole life. The bullets that matter, bullets of forgiveness, compassion, understanding, just aren't chambering correctly right now.
Blam. People are selfish.
Blam. People fuck each other up.
Blam. Everyone you know is fucked up, and they're fucking you up too.
Blam. They like hurting each other.
Blam. We're no better than the rest.
Blam. We're probably worse.
Six rounds, but I've got crates more where they came from. All centering around the same theme, the same ground zero.
This column isn't proposing a solution, or pointing out a problem no one else has noticed. It is perhaps the most useless piece of prose I have ever slapped down. But in between clouds of optimism and idealism about mankind I find myself looking into a cold, dark sky.
It's not the idea of people I mind. It's the execution. | |
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