A dystopian society ruled by sadistic old rich people holds a social experiment on a large group of young people. I’m the oldest one in the experiment. They trap them all in a school to survive, and introduce a black blob called the “bubble“. It’s vague about what the bubble does, other than gives the holder all the power in the group. The bubble makes it so that it’s wielder dictates what religion is practiced, and which philosophies everyone must subscribe to, both personal and political. At first discussions about who should have the bubble are civil, and the first few candidates’ terms go relatively smooth, besides one thing; The animosity and bitterness all those that disagree with the current holder’s views. I take advantage of the opportunity by asserting that I should have it because of my age. I think that I know what’s best for everyone. That’s a mistake. After that there’s an all out power struggle and my dream implies (it’s hard to explain how that works) that a lot of bad things happen, and I get in a lot of trouble, even once almost escaping the school, at the risk of setting off the explosive implant in my brain.
My dream suddenly “jump cuts” (who knew they could do that?) to a group of children, including my self, calmly walking down a hall to the chapel, or mosque, or whatever it’s called at the time. Generic worship area. On the way we pass by two overseeers; Their expressions are ones of defeat as they pretend to find the floor way more interesting than it actually is. We arrive, and take our places in the pews. We all lift up our hands and start chanting. “We will ignore the bubble, we will ignore the bubble, we will ignore the bubble.” There’s an overseeer there too. His expression is of disgust.
Anyway, I thought it was pretty crazy for my unconscious mind to come up with that all by it’s self.
You’ll find me wedged in some terrible, dark place. You’ll find me on the brink of insanity, you’ll find me anywhere but your shallow memories and public displays of concern. I inhabit no world but my own, which I’ve disgustingly let you convince me is yours. I’ll be resisting until I can’t anymore, not because It’s who I am, but because it’s who I should be. All the fucking grime on the planet is mine to inherent, only at the cost of a non-existent soul. There isn’t a single tear to shed for my lost humanity, because humanity was always disgusting. I can prove I’m worth something by proving I’m not. My existence is not my chain.
A tremulous tumble through thoughts hidden, a ceaseless reflection on nothing but the stale self. “Show me your self” they say, “Show me your self”. To explode would be too easy, to let loose all those bits and pieces, to drown them all with such gruesome revelations. The worst is yet to be realized, the worst is that they cannot drown. They have no lungs to breath with, they absorb your defeat instead. It is nourishment to them, unyielding and stubborn in their way. They turn it around to suit their realities, they pervert it to accommodate their machine, they use it to corrupt their young, and preach it to themselves all day long.
You can not yell loud enough to be heard, you can not matter if you are. People are people.
So many lanes all twisted around each other, so many people confusing left for right, blaming it on each other. So many people jumping from their perches, so many people staying where they are. I could jump. I could jump but I couldn’t fly. Maybe I’ll jump just for the heck of it, maybe I’ll pretend to fly until gravity is kind enough to let me fall. Whatever I choose, I know it will be right, because what I choose can’t be wrong. What I choose is as right as what you choose, because there isn’t a now, and there never was one. I can’t wait to be spit on, I can’t wait to fail, I can’t wait to tell you what happened to me on my way down, I can’t wait to be laughed at and feel what it’s like to drown in the accumulative failures of a race in denial of it’s self. everyone else will pretend to enjoy their lies atop those wobbling perches as I expire into nothingness. With all the satisfaction of someone who’s done all he could as a broken mechanism of flight, I will expire with false indignation.
Nyem.
This unstoppable force expands within me, this repressed human nature mocks me with it’s immanence, grinning at me as it grows and grows, threatening to overwhelm my ability to subdue it. Lose control and go on automatic, let the inclinations of this nature take hold of you. Let it than gush out, ironically repulsing the objects of it’s desire, than leaving you no more than a pile of burnt flesh on the ground, hidden by a conveniently placed shadow cast from the tree you were so carelessly rooted to. Manual mode tries your luck as it suffocates even your most desperate words with a barely transparent, utterly overwritten layer of metaphorical filth. Drown in it for all I care. Where’s that reset button anyway? For all the hypocritical pretending to maintain the utmost concern for their fellow man, lost are such sentiments in them for one who loses even the ability to harbor concern enough for himself. Publish such thoughts and roll away in all the finality of your utmost submission. Than we’ll really have a laugh. Perhaps cut short, but a laugh all the same.
All the colors and pictures blur together and etch a permanent place in his mind. As the points rack up, he’s conditioned to appreciate every last one of them, savoring their worth so much more than you ever could. the actions preformed with the controller in his hands translate into much more fantastic feats in a world he’ll never visit, but always wish he could. He’ll carry the impression of this encounter, this etch in the back of his mind until one day he’s reminded of it, and fondly associates it with all the innocent contentment of child-hood. I’m not just introducing him to a means by which to neglect reality, I’m giving him a Delicious dose of nostalgia. One day he’ll be glad to have those simple memories to hold on to, when the walls of his quiet little world are torn asunder. He’ll be glad of them when he realizes how simple and forgiving they are in contrast to a reality convoluted by as many bad possibilities as good ones; A world without rules to follow, or points to collect.
I can sit here and be a beautiful alien. I can sit here and become absolutely absent, I can sit here and stop caring about all those little things in such a distant place called earth. I can swallow nothing, and breath a vacuum. If to be alive is to do nothing but pick and nag at the discrepancies of existence, than call me dead. Watch me float above you now with confident aimlessness, ready to be used by no one. listen to all the screaming and yelling that I can on longer hear. Do I laugh at you, all caught up in things so trivial? No, I don’t even care anymore as I‘m embraced by this cloud, entirely devoid of any of the poisonous thoughts so rampant in the atmosphere down there on the surface. This can’t be heaven, because I’m all alone. It’s something much better. Up here in my perfect place your vile excavation of me is impossible, It’s farther than your tendrils can reach. *snip*
It’s a terrible irony that everything you’ve done, all you are, everything about you exists for no other reason than to benefit another. Your existence is meaningless without companionship. Isolation is worse than death, for in isolation there is no one else to project yourself upon. Your selfishness can not exist when there is no others to appreciate it. Everything you work for, everything you strive to achieve, all your aspirations are meaningless before the void, they mean nothing without someone to attach some value to them. You can not be free when there is no one to bond you, you can not be exceptional unless there also exist the unexceptional.
What a demoralizing thought, that your every rebellious tendency is completely misguided, that even your natural inclination toward social liberation is terribly impractical. Total conformity only actually becomes bad when the physical conditions of such a state become undesirable. If your abnormality is productive to society than you are a genius; If it is in any way detrimental than you are a liability. This is the way in which reality chooses to operate, and in this I find my justification for hating reality. Do not tell me that it’s your wish to be alone, don’t pretend to desire individualism, or I, in my miserable isolation shall be forced to point out to you a truth not worth learning: That alone you are nothing, and might as well not exist.
We humans are the parasites of one another, spending all our time obsessing over our next host; throwing all of our resources toward obtaining one, blind to all else that never mattered.
I’m starving without my symbiotic bond, without my nourishment of the soul. Feed me until I’m fat with conformity, bloated with hypocrisy, and pacified with subservient submission. If not fed, I will exist as nothing but a shadow of what I was meant to be, a grotesque reminder of your society’s malfunction, a failed human being.
Superficiality clings to you like a bad smell. You eat and breathe narcissism, you bathe in blatant flattery. Your world is a material one, devoid of any mystery. You accept comfortable thoughts and philosophies in exchange for the loss of free-thought, you take blind acceptance in exchange for inquiry. You take for granted the fact that you are special, regardless of your conformity. You float through life in a bubble of pleasant thoughts and shallow aspirations. You pacify yourself with the ability to ignore your insignificance, and embrace the plain, mundane vices of modern society. You complete the tasks given to you with just enough competence, and with a disgusting acceptance; you never ask “why?” or “how?”, you only ask “when?”.
You are much happier than me, and I hate you.
Freeze. I’ve got you right where I want you. All wrapped up in my game, my fantasy. You have to stand there, pretending right along with me. You have to stay right there and play along with my game. Put your hands up, pretend to drop dead, “accidentally” fall down the stairs. You’re all mine as I take it for granted while you breathe your last pretend breath and stick out your tongue. I know it’s just a game though, I know you’d never leave me. Who would pretend with me like this if you did? No, you’ll always be right there, you’ll always be around to be held at gun point whenever I need you to be.