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566 words.
Support pulseHEAD.com, and get some free money too. (THIS SPACE AVAILABLE)FICTION SUBMITTED BY Ess2s2 AT 2008.11.17 03:33 AM | VIEWED 177 TIMES
CONTENT
If you want to know me, you have just to ask. It is a symptom of the world that its children do not know each other. Do not love each other. Indeed, fight with one another, vie for that last bit of enrichment. Kill each other, for that last bit of immortality.
I am not my face, I am not my voice, I am not my image. I am myself and I am my actions, for better or worse. This life is short and painfully bright, get too close to the nucleus and risk the reward of getting burned by my spark of life. It is less of an issue to believe in that which cannot be seen and more of an issue to accept what has not been proven.
What was I 10 years ago?
If there were a purpose to my life, I would like to think it is something unattainable, something completely out of my grasp. I would like to imagine it as an eternal goal, one that vanishes into the horizon and fades from view. An intangible thing that eludes rational discourse and logic. I would like to think that my purpose in life is one part of many, one essential tooth in an infinitely complex and eternal machine. And I would like to remove myself from it. To disintegrate myself from that which is the whole and observe the effects of my absence. I would very much like to observe my lack of contribution, to catalog it in painstaking detail as my non-compliance generates an ever widening gap in the seamless operation of the machine, to watch the entropy magnify and multiply in exponentia. I want to be there, my eyes open and seeing, as everything essential comes crashing down, falling apart and crumbling, all as a result of my unwillingness to fulfill my role, however minute.
What will I be in 10 years?
Pain and the human animal; so tightly integrated it is as if they are one and the same. As if the two were designed in symbiosis and forged in a single motion, confined within the same vessel. We are an organism who is defined through our pain. We feel it with the most intensity, we allow it to sculpt us with the greatest detail, we wear it outside of ourselves for all to see, especially when we try to hide it. Though we would deny it, pain is our legacy, it is our emotional ziggurat. In our art, our innermost expressions, we celebrate pain. It is our last frontier, we fantasize about overcoming this inseparable part of ourselves, defeating it, leaving it behind and living in everlasting bliss. It is this ideal, this notion which has been romanticized over the entire course of our existence which drives us to extremes of behavior. It is this one thing, this insurmountable goal which leads us to such dangerous flights of fancy and causes us to do the one thing we should never do?Which is to look past this life into some supposed next. To suppose that this thing we are a part of is only a gateway to something better. To assume as much is to disregard this incredible thing we are a part of and to discount the beauty of life. We blind ourselves to the truth and honesty of a painful existence.
Eternal bliss is a lie.
RATING: 7
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