Decay

Today I was asked to go out and see my sister's fiance's band with her. Deliberately I said yes straight away and decided I would contemplate it further when she had went away. I knew she would hound me and ask me why not if I had said no. When she had gone I looked into the mirror and I witnessed my disgusting tan and my newfound spots on my face, and I thought hell no. I am unclean, and in need of a hair cut, and peeling and unnattractive. I behaved like a chicken would and said no, I would not like to go over the internet. I ran myself a bath and I lathered in it for what felt like hours, and my mother asked me why I was not going. My twenty six year old sister had just went and told of her frustration to my mum first, in baby-like fashion. I was sick and tired and did not want to explain the real reason why and so I said, in monotone voice, "I don't feel like it."

She muttered something I did not hear, although I am sure there was a curse word and an insult both in the quote. I turned on the bath tap just to hear something other than awkward silence, despite the bath being hot already. I contemplated whether I would ever feel fit enough to tell people why I couldn't go and attend something on a designated day. I have to wake up happy, look appropriate enough, and most importantly, look like myself. Individuality is a prime constant for me, although it is completely and utterly worthless, and I know this first hand. If somebody tried to dress me up in clothes that I did not like and would not wear then I would rather go outside naked, for at least it is truly me, whether I like it or not. To wear what they wear and do what they do, I would rather be dead than follow robotic routine. At least that which I can help.

I was contemplating whilst I was bathing. I came to decide that young people can be so absurd in the way they view things. Young people, and teenagers, they think that they can second guess and always be right about their peers and what is going on inside their heads. The truth is that they are driven by lust and rage and jealousy, the kinds of emotions which most adults learn to handle as they get older. They think they can understand and see when somebody is being fake or insincere, somebody of their own age. How egotistical it is to believe they have the power to do that. The most honest thoughts in the world most probably come from inside the head of a teenager. Their mind is trapped on a plane between being children and being adults, and how much more of a confusing place can someone be in. The teenage mind is truth. It has absorbed what it not true in childhood and is beginning to learn how corrupt the adult world is too, and this is built on honesty by observing adults and having every right not to want to be like them. For adults, I could understand why most see their teenage years as one long, confused warp of angst and despair. The moment we grow out of being children is the time we are most susceptible to seeing the world for what it really is. When you turn into an adult, you are presented with the choice of either obliging with the poverty of ideas and getting on with life with your lips sealed, or bringing the teenage truth into light and trying to do something about it. By then, the people who know what is wrong and corrupt about the world, but whom choose to ignore it and find happiness no matter how little there is, are set in their decision and are not interested in the views of others.

The world is set in stone now, and that stone is merely shit disguised as stone. I would much rather learn to live like a caveman than try to settle myself in this adult world. To live alone and isolated like Thoreau and have my own plot of land and merely my own company. Isolation much further down the line cannot be too much worse than this. Not too much. In a short time I will scramble though papers and internet and I will look for a job I will be sorely dissatisfied with the moment I walk though the building door. I will pay no attention to what I want, for there is nobody with the skill to cater for me personally. I will hate every moment in my waking life from Monday to Friday and only on weekends will I truly experience splendour with what little money I have. After then it is back to the beginning. To be a musician, or an artist or film director, is not really an occupation worth pursuing. Neither are worthwhile nor benefitial to mankind in any huge way like being a doctor or a paramedic does. Music and art can be graceful for the soul, like a form of therapy a psychiatrist might perform. Unless what you choose to write about and perform merely steeps one's depression. Then again, the happy vibes released from an uplifting song can only last so long and only go so far. The only way is to hack at the root of the problem rather than at the branches. The root is long and winding and it begins in a place called humanity. The cold and the selfish breed more cold and selfish, and the loop is never ending. People believe they are really interested in getting drunk and getting high when, really, they are only interested in escaping reality for as long as they possibly can. Never have I been in more despairing company than with someone who is only aware of happiness when they are drunk.

I want to meet the man who first came to the decision of money. Who thought that we, as humans, must gain some of this stuff to manouver our ways through life and, quite simply, to survive. On planet earth there are tons of stockpiles of food, shelter, water, clothing and whatnot, and whoever decided that man must become a slave and work to earn his share of what he needs to remain alive. Everywhere you turn your head, all you will see is man-made, unnatural surroundings. There is nobody more desperate in life than a man who's sole purpose is to make money. Discover what sells and stick it on everything. On towels, purses, bags, hats, clothes. For you understand we will all flock like sheep at a feeding pen, spending out hard-earned money on petty media-centered objects and then regretting it the next day. At work we must do whatever our manager or boss says, otherwise our job is lost and our pay is lost and we have no means of survival. I believe that humans truly believe that if they were to lose their job, things would be so bad and so disgraceful and they would have so little money and supplies that planet earth and it's people would simply leave them to suffer and die. This is not true, for there are individuals who work in need of others, and who set up charities and shelters for people with little to no money. Still though, people will stay on with a job they despise like rats in a cage, and they become more and more bitter and more and more bottled up that the only way they can release it is if it were to be at home, away from their boss's eyes. A wrath released on children, wives, husbands, pets, neighbours and the like, and one so unforgiveable and so undignified that they may then lose all contact with those closest to them.

Either way, we unwillingly but actively choose to be slaves. Slaved trapped in relationships, trapped in families, in the workplace, in the shopping centres, in our own homes, and most important, trapped in the capitalism of human nature. A world where decisions are based on the object of money, artificialities and goods, and not on the individual needs of earth's most advanced and intelligent species. Our advancements have turned around to spit in our faces, yet still we keep advancing.

What gives man any right to exploit another fellow man. But by the most horrendous standards, what gives man any right to kill another man? A murderer or serial killer is driven by his own personal reasons to want to kill, but the man who straps that man to an electric chair or who wraps the noose around his head is in his own mind and should therefore be able to understand that he is in the wrong too. The man who destroys the other man on death row, what then happens to his newfound status of murderer? If the saying "A life for a life" were true, then there would be a chain of lives taken with no means of stopping.

A man who murders is never in the right mind to begin with. Almost every bad decision ever made in history was made because one thought his mind ought to tell him to do so. Schizophrenia, depression, personality disorders, bipolar, are all diseases of the mind. What lesson is a murderer taught if he is then executed by the same means of which he was not allowed or supposed to carry out? What kind of a mark does that leave on us? A sufficient punishment would be to isolate these people from society and, instead of entirely giving up hope on their situation and of that person's place in the human race, to try our best to aid that person with the help of psychologists, professionals and highly skilled doctors. One factor of humanity is that humans will never let go of something they fathom without witnessing appropriate punishment and revenge. The family of the victim of the murderer then becomes the murderer themselves as they see no way how this could have possibly happened to their dearly beloved wives and husbands and children and relatives, and so only see fit to do what was done to them. I am not for a moment suggesting that murderers are at all justified to murder because many are suffering with unbearable mental illnesses, but instead trying to focus on what makes humanity turn hypocritical and to an equal degree, think much like that murderer has thought by wanting to take somebody's life without sufficient reason other than because they might be likely to kill again. Let them remain alive and isolated in a pale white room, and let them attempt to live with what they have done, for that is much more sufficient punishment than cutting off their conscience altogether.