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Words. They have a way to convey emotions and feelings, or even get you to think about something in a different way, but this is all just a manipulation of the propaganda forced down our throats ever since we formed a language. Ever since you were little, you’re told what’s right, what’s wrong, what’s kind, what’s mean. Why do you feel hurt when someone insults you? Why is it that you act a certain way on how someone says something? There is no discussion to be had, there’s only one answer; you’re told to. If you were told as a child to be happy whenever someone insulted you, then you would. You’d probably go around insulting everyone else to make him or her feel better. What makes a word an insult in the first place? Someone just fumbled some letters around, made the pronunciation and suddenly that word becomes insulting if they use it in an insulting way. It may be pessimistic, but what you say has no meaning at all.
We’re nothing but animals, and as such, we have no more influence than anything else. There is no heaven, no hell. Again, there’s no argument there. For thousands of centuries, people have died; for billions of years, animals have died. There is no way there can be an infinitely large area where we all go when we die. Heaven, hell, “a better place”; they’re all just excuses people hide behind when they’re too afraid to man up and face the fact that when they die, they’re going to spend a couple years rotting in the ground, like everyone else.
Walking to school today, I found a dead squirrel. It was obvious road kill, but at least someone had the decency to sweep it over off the road, right onto the walkway that’s the way all the children walk home from school. I’m sure they’ll all love looking into it’s torn side to see it’s kidney and it’s spine hanging out. But hey, at least no more cars will hit it, right? We’re okay with death, so long as it doesn’t affect us. I’m one hundred percent sure that the person who hit the squirrel wasn’t the one who stopped and moved it out of the road.
Some people view humans as the most advanced creatures on the planet, but they suffer far more than any other species. Because we have the intellect and we’re free thinkers, we formed a society where everything is known. Now if you’re lucky, you can get off free and not think about death until later in your life or be hit by so much propaganda that you believe that you’re going to a special place, which has the capability to host billions of creatures.
You see the short yellow bus, you see the mentally challenged kids get off and go home, some less obvious than others. We make fun of them and feel sorry for their lacking ability. I envy them. They don’t worry about death or dying, they take life a day at a time. They’re, more often than not, consent with their lives. Yes, they may only be shortly satisfied with an object and need something else immediately, but they don’t think about the future.
Look in a mirror. You can see your body changing. Maturing. Aging. Anything you do, in the long run, is minute. You may be remembered in the future, but you’re still going to end up a lifeless carcass in the end. You age, there’s nothing you can do about it. You can make yourself look younger, but you’re just lying to yourself; makeup and facelifts won’t stop your finale.
Reading this, you called me depressed, don’t deny it. I’m far from depressed. I’m a man of logic and reason; you give me time alone and I think. I find it best to keep me from that, as it does usually lead to a damper on the mood. As Ernest Hemingway says, “Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.” Don’t back down from anything, as you do only get one shot at it. So what if you’re shot down? It’s not like it’s going to matter in the long run.