we the killing machines
The weight of another Sunday night is made even more heavy by the sopping wet May air.
Everyone I’ve ever loved is dead. I see them now only in my minds eye, in the old and now vacant houses of the town of Windsor. Little wonder I’m perpetually disappointed by human beings, they don’t matter anymore, I don’t know why I even bother.
The sweet little girl used to call me darling. Maybe I’d have come to call her that too. I wanted to say it. Oh, what a fool I am. And, how quickly they change, it can only take a night, a moment, to turn the lovesick little thing into a ball of cruelty spitting venom everywhere but particularly at me.
And, what did I do today to suffer this.... cleaned the bathroom, smoked some cigarettes read fifty pages in a book, watched the white sox win at baseball, and felt guilty about killing a stinging bug. Felt guilty about killing a bug.
Oh, but human beings don’t feel guilty about anything... fuck you they say with a smile on their face, fuck you. And, in a moment turn around and tell me to watch my language; there are children present, they say. I know now that it’s not the language itself they object to, but its interference with the subtlety of instruction.
Human beings don’t know that they’re the parasites on this earth, well maybe some do. And, I don’t say this lightly it’s a terrible thing, I don’t delight in it. It’s painful to learn, for example, that Jesus’ death was not redemptive at all, but one of too many terrible deaths suffered at the hands of us killing machines.
Everyone I’ve ever loved is dead. I see them now only in my minds eye, in the old and now vacant houses of the town of Windsor. Little wonder I’m perpetually disappointed by human beings, they don’t matter anymore, I don’t know why I even bother.
The sweet little girl used to call me darling. Maybe I’d have come to call her that too. I wanted to say it. Oh, what a fool I am. And, how quickly they change, it can only take a night, a moment, to turn the lovesick little thing into a ball of cruelty spitting venom everywhere but particularly at me.
And, what did I do today to suffer this.... cleaned the bathroom, smoked some cigarettes read fifty pages in a book, watched the white sox win at baseball, and felt guilty about killing a stinging bug. Felt guilty about killing a bug.
Oh, but human beings don’t feel guilty about anything... fuck you they say with a smile on their face, fuck you. And, in a moment turn around and tell me to watch my language; there are children present, they say. I know now that it’s not the language itself they object to, but its interference with the subtlety of instruction.
Human beings don’t know that they’re the parasites on this earth, well maybe some do. And, I don’t say this lightly it’s a terrible thing, I don’t delight in it. It’s painful to learn, for example, that Jesus’ death was not redemptive at all, but one of too many terrible deaths suffered at the hands of us killing machines.
posted by j/r at 10:41 p.m.
3 Comments:
Absolutely wonderful post. Ominous as hell, but I've come to expect that from you here.
"Fuck you they say with a smile on their face, fuck you. And, in a moment turn around and tell me to watch my language; there are children present, they say." ... Wow.
here are some lyrics from nick cave that will brighten up this entry...
People just ain't no good
I think that's well understood
You can see it everywhere you look
People just ain't no good
We were married under cherry trees
Under blossom we made pour vows
All the blossoms come sailing down
Through the streets and through the playgrounds
The sun would stream on the sheets
Awoken by the morning bird
We'd buy the Sunday newspapers
And never read a single word
People they ain't no good
People they ain't no good
People they ain't no good
Seasons came, Seasons went
The winter stripped the blossoms bare
A different tree now lines the streets
Shaking its fists in the air
The winter slammed us like a fist
The windows rattling in the gales
To which she drew the curtains
Made out of her wedding veils
People they ain't no good
People they ain't no good
People they ain't no good at all
To our love send a dozen white lilies
To our love send a coffin of wood
To our love let aal the pink-eyed pigeons coo
That people they just ain't no good
To our love send back all the letters
To our love a valentine of blood
To our love let all the jilted lovers cry
That people they just ain't no good
It ain't that in their hearts they're bad
They can comfort you, some even try
They nurse you when you're ill of health
They bury you when you go and die
It ain't that in their hearts they're bad
They'd stick by you if they could
But that's just bullshit
People just ain't no good
L.L., I think it's good that you enjoyed the post. Thanks for the comment.
And, cave, well, I'd be lying if I said that this had never brightened a day of mine before.
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