My life is dominated by ease and my struggle to shred it. In volatile moments in which I am being lured to engage with my fellow men, I find a drunkard’s joy in life so easily and so completely that I mistake it for the greatest treasure obtainable by man. This is what man calls happiness, I am sure of it. I talk, drink and embrace my newly found friends, even if they feel incapable and unsure by the disarmament of the social shields that we normally upkeep. At such moments, I feel deeply and passionately one with my new friends, I kiss them, I love them, and I swear dutiful oaths of allegiance, which I will remain to feel obliged to uphold for ever. But the incapacity of man to reach so deep within their own hearts, the incapacity to offer their hearts so completely, to throw away their reserves and offer their hearts without conditions and leave themselves defenseless, quickly disappoints me severely. And the hollow echos that entertained me, entermain me but for a little longer, before the wells exhausted. The satiety I reach comes with spurs and in cycles. Not too long after I am indulged in the happiness of people that is easy to obtain and of little weight to a deep soul, this lightness becomes so heavy on my stomach, it becomes impossible for me to digest, and I feel a need to vomit, to rid my body of its diffusible nature. Alas, how could I ever accept such a life, where the mediocre body of happiness is my highest objective. To be happy among man, to be appreciated by men is so impossible for me, that I become sick to death of myself being consumed by it. The nature of human happiness is that it is as cheap to obtain as bronze, that it is generally desired like gold, and that it demands constant polishing to uphold its appearance. Then, I finally cannot but absolutely and completely dramatically reject the petty offerings that my friends struggle to make and win me over. Their petty attempts to win what I had thrown at their feet in the first beginnings, a gain that scared them and their fear could not hold, but an impression that they attempt to regain so reluctantly and fearfully, little bit by bit that they keep far from it. Without risk their fear approaches, and because they are shielded they remain distant. But I drift already. Alas, I felt so close before, now they are approaching, they have become unattainable.
Alas, now They are unattainably close
Leave a reply