Wandering with the Wind...

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

I should go, shouldn't I? What am I doing in this world?

If I had a life, if I had a life before this one...I would very much like to ask my past self just why I had chosen this new path to walk. Was he a filthy rich merchant who in the last throes of death thought of experiencing the refreshing spice of bourgeoise hardship? Was she a poor girl who wished for better but never wished high and far enough? Was he a murderer who experienced a stab of guilt while he brought down the blade and thought of repenting in the next life? Or was she a common soul, an excruciatingly normal soul, who, in the last seconds before death, failed to make her wish at all?

I'm not quite sure if I'm looking forward to being insane. Wasn't I insane to start off with? Which kid would at the tender and innocent age of 6 entertain morbid thoughts of people being cut up, people being tortured, people being murdered, people being kidnapped by factories and painfully killed...and god, those doodles, those accursed doodles on those accursed papers done on the accursed kindergarten floor! Innocent scrawls, yet so potent and full of darkness...what am I, really? If I became schizo one day, would this dark persona come out from within? Would I find myself living with this demonic self, who would whisper every night in my sleep and pull my hair and tug on my sleeves and, when I crack open my eyes a fraction of an inch, stare at me with haunting eyes: "Take care of me. I have killed too many."?

Abominable thoughts, such abominable thoughts! And yet, yet, they come to me! These visions, this sadness, this morbid sadism, they can't be embedded in me, can they? If they aren't, then where do they come from? People don't think those things. Normal people, normal children, don't think those things. How can I assure that I won't grow up and let this wretched soul devour all connections with reality? Such abominable thoughts!

Or am I in a personal sense like Hedda Gabler, spiritually deprived, a being encrusted in the grays of uncertainty as it drifts aimlessly in and out of the social common room, in and out, back and forth, up and down, without a care for too many of the cares that it carries on its shoulders? Will I, when I grow up to consume more of this revolting dish of life, finally call the waiter, hand him a pistol, and tell him to shoot the chef for coming up with such a ghastly dish - and do it beautifully? No blood, no brains, no splatters on the sparkling clean white tiles; do it gracefully, subtly, take his life in a courageous and powerful flourish and pass time by into the bourne of inexistence, for no drama will be tolerated, no outburst will be beautiful. Pass away beatifully, as he wished I did.

Or one day I will pass this pistol to my other self, and tell me, take both of us away this instant, away, away, far away! And never shall this be known by those faceless benumbed souls around us, who will not give a moment's hesitation to stare, and stare they will not with genuine curiosity, but with hidden fear that such an act, such courageous beauty, can really exist in their flawless, flawless little world.

Die, Hedda Gabler, die away! Be far gone because you deserve to, you deserve to end your life by your own hands, to choose your destiny by your own mind. Alas you have gained control over one man's destiny, and that man is you, that man is you, Hedda. That beautiful man is you. If only I had such courage as you did, such invaluable insight, to bring forth earlier what inevitably will come to pass!

Incoherence has muddled my words.

Well pass them by, pass them by! I do not mind if, in this very slightest minute, I am very much losing my mind.

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~~~*Played with the Winds at 5.44pm*~~~

Aurinya blogged at 5:44 PM

Roaming the Winds