147 lines
8.7 KiB
Plaintext
147 lines
8.7 KiB
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oOOOO OOOO. OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" .OOOOOO OOOOOo OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOO oOOOOOOO OOOOOOO. OOOO oOOOO
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OOOO .OOOO OOOO OOOOOOOOo OOOO OOOO"
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OOOO oOOOO OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo .OOOO'
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OOOO .OOOO" OOOO OOOO OOOOoOOOO "OOOO. oOOOO
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OOOO oOOOOOOO..OOOO OOOO "OOOOOOO OOOOoOOOO"
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OOOO .OOOO"""OOOOOOOO OOOO OOOOOO "OOOOOOO'
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OOOO oOOOO ""OOOO OOOO "OOOO OOOOOO
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #28 |
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- Life is Pain -
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by Tal Meta
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A small child, perhaps five, maybe six, plays in the sand on the beach. Her
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father, watching her, smiles, "So much like myself," he thinks, "I can only
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hope she doesn't grow up to be TOO much like me."
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The man was odd. This has been said of many others, but not for the same
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reasons. Born to oddness, he did not think himself so, and wondered why
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others did. They didn't understand him. Not at all. But he understood
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himself, and everyone around him too. That was why he was dangerous.
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The boy who would become the man was fey. Dreamer, poet, madman, mystic.
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All of these things, yet none at all. idealist, his ideas were unpleasnat.
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Above all else, he was different. So he had to know himself. But first, and
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harder yet, he learned everyone else. But the idealism was a problem. So
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belief was the first part of him that died and was reborn. One evening, he
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was known to have written these words, even though the reasons were
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unclear. But then, they always were.
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I hear the cry of Friendship, and I rejoice! To have a friend is a good
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thing. But as I sit here alone, wondering as I do, just what could
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friendship possibly mean to you?
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My ideas are clear, so yours must be at fault, why else would we be at this
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point? I have freinds who are more than friends, and some who are less. And
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those that are less, them I leave by the wayside. And too, I have enemies,
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some who were once friends. But they are all assembled from those on the
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waysides. Still though, I seek someone to be my friend.
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Still though, i seek for someone to be my Friend, who shares my views on
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friendship, the way its meant to be. Today, as yesterday, and rushing
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towards tomorrow, I stand accused, The Fool.
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At times I wonder how I yet still live, burned by fires from within and
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without. the silver flames of treachery, and the personal black of rage. So
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I've claimed them as mu colors, the tartan of my clan. (As if, bastard that
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I am, I had that right.)
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And yea, though I walk through the valley in the shadow of death, I fear no
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evil. I have faith. Twisted by my childhood, warped in puberty, madness now
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has claimed me, but it shall not be. For yet I live, and while I live I can
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hope, and dream. Friends come and go, but enemies accumulate, there by the
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wayside. I have but two wishes in this world today; That I might choose my
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enemies as carefully as I choose my friends, and that my friends should
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understand me as well as I do them.
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-------
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I wrote these words a lifetime ago, to someone long since passed from my
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life. I kept them, as I keep many useless things, as a notice to my future
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self that there was once pain, and that there would be pain again. Life is
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pain. But you have to keep moving. Despite what some people's gods will
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tell you, death is a piss poor answer to any question. Unless its someone
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else's death, of course. You learn to deal with pain... there are as many
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answers as there are people to ask. I discovered meditation. I learned to
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learn from pain. I did stupid things, and learned thereby. I kept moving.
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Thats what its all about, really. Keep moving. Keep thinking. Your thoughts
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are all you really own anyway. Thats why there's no copyright notice on
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these things. If someone really wants to steal them, they will. Someone
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might have already. Its their loss. I still have my thoughts, and all they
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have is a copy. We have no rights. I used to think people were following
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me. I thought they knew what I was thinking, and were following me to stop
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me. Maybe they were. Maybe I just stopped noticing them behind me. But they
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haven't stopped me yet. At least, not yet today. Why were they following
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me? I don't even remember. Probably had something to do with Lyra dying the
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way she did. She cursed me that night, and it wasn't even my fault. She
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cursed me with the knowlege that what I had just begun to learn would grow,
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and change, and that someday, I, too, would prefer death to living. Maybe.
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But not yet.
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Its after 8 P.M.... I'm safe from invasion once again. The last search
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warrant said they could only come between 8 A.M and 8 P.M. They could come
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anytime they want, but that illusion of safety comforts me greatly. If I
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cling to it, thats my business. I'm not even doing anything to make them
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come, and I still wonder if they will. I probably always will. My privacy
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was shattered once: now I guard whats left tooth and nail.
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I used to wonder if I was really human. I even resigned from the human race
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once. Nobody took it seriously. Not that I cared. It was a gesture, and I
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was big on gestures when i was 14. I used to think... a million different
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things. Being an adopted child leaves alot of room for your imagination to
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play. Who were they, those gametes that met one November night? Did they
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care for each other? Did they care for me, even a little? Who knows. Maybe
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someday I will try to find out. Maybe not. Maybe one of them will try and
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find me. I expect they'll be disappointed. I'm more interested in their
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medical histroy than I am in them as people, anyway.
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I had my name legally changed, oh, can it be 5 years ago already? The
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people who adopted me, they told me I was adopted. That helped. I'd hate to
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go through life thinking I was related to them. I sometimes wonder if I
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changed my name to please myself, of to put another knife in my "father's"
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back. He was always so proud of the "family name". I despised it. I
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despised him, too, for lots of things. For never being there. For divorcing
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my "mother" to go breed with someone who could bear him children who
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carried his genes. I've almost got my "brother" talked into changing his
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name too, just to cheese the fucker off. He finally married for money. He's
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much happier now. He'll be happier when she dies and he inherits. But
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nobody will mourn when he dies.
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There's a war brewing. Somewhere. There's another war going in full swing
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somewhere else. People want to stop war. I have come to grips with war. War
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is good. We've reached the top of the food chain; we have no competition.
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So we have war. War is supposed to weed out the weak. Not that it does
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anymore. Too high tech. We should go back to swords. It all comes down to
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breeding. War spreads the genes around. Its better at it than TV, Air
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Travel, and Sperm Banks combined. We went to southeast asia before I was
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born. I was seven when we left. We left a million? More? crossbreeds in our
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wake. Thats what war is really all about you know. The chance to inflict
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your gene plasm on the enemy. The rape of the Subine, and all that.
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I read once that mankind was Earth's sperm. We are our planet's way of
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reproducing. When we go to another world, we're going to cart our plants,
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and our animals, and our germs along for the ride. Like bees spreading
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pollen. I like that illusion. I have no problem being sperm. I just wish
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we'd quit playing with ourselves and spurt on something already. Who knows,
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we might find something thats at the same point on the food chain as we
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are. We could kill that, then, instead of each other. Or something higher
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up could find us... but thats life.
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