How about a fake blog post by the fakest of them all? Even fakest isn't a real word, but I never let grammar and spelling get in the way of setting things right. Cue laughter.
I fail to see why any of us bothers, or even gets out of bed in the morning. Or late afternoon, or in my case - even when the sun sets. Nocturnal and insomniac bastard that I am. But I can't be blamed, it's questions like these that drive me to insanity and lack of sleep.
There is no originality, it died long before you and I came into the picture. We're just products, or bi-products by this time, of the standards and "socially acceptable-ness" that was set long before we were ... products, or bi-products...
We're brainwashed, programmed, and spoon fed with all the bullshit and political correctness that the world around us thinks is stomach-able. No less, no more.
We fake appearances, emotions, feelings. We're our own heroes, and life is our hero's journey. Each and every one of us. Whose the antagonists in our case scenarios, then? The same cliche' antagonists as always, of course.
Authority. The Man. Our own personal dilemmas. Whatever we can build up in time to be miserable and depressed, all the while - faking our way through personal relationships and "life." The selfish pricks that you and I are. There is no altruism, there never can be. The game has always been about the survival of the fittest, and don't let any asshole tell you otherwise. Save yourself and all the optimistic, drugged up on stupid shit, life teachers - all the effort.
You are born, you struggle to survive and put food on the table, and then you die. I don't see what the big fucking mystery is.
So "what masks does Daanish Arif wear?," an opportunist would ask at this time.
Fuck you, that's what mask. See what I did there? I'm the forever rebelling, sticking it to the man while sticking one up his wife's ass - not taking shit for answers, and making my own rules - motherfucker.
It's much easier to claim you don't like the game itself, to save yourself from having to put any effort into playing it.
Fuck all the rules, because I didn't make any of them - and neither did you. Then why participate?
Such a pacifist, aren't I? And so easy to get along with, as long as you don't put any rules on the table.
We're so full of hope, and so full of shit. (Thank you Marilyn Manson.) We will forever lust after results, and we're all fucking superstars according to our own rites. Right... rite, right... Whatever.
Why do I love self destruction so much, an opportunist would probably ask. Well, we all beg to feel something or the other every now and then, don't we?
We all have to play with the cards we're dealt, of course. And what cards was I dealt that hadn't ever been dealt to anyone before?
It's all been done before, it's all happened before. We're not living any special stories, we stopped a long time ago. As soon as the nth number of person born took the same exact route someone else did. Probably long before your great grandfather was even born.
The only thing that surpasses our hopelessness is our insignificance. Yet we strive to correct people on their beliefs, on the color of their skin. We continue to stigmatize the poor moron that had no choice where he was born, or under what religion. We continue to kill in the name of pissing all over the place and marking our territory.
The only thing that surpasses our insignificance, is how primitive we are. Except, we don't climb trees and throw feces at each other any more. We climb social heirarchys' and use bombs.
We're like a speck of dust in a universe so huge - our minds can't even contemplate it. It would make our idiotic heads spin, and one look at how it all works is enough to drive the sanest minds insane.
"If life is going to exist in a universe of this size, then the one thing it cannot afford to have is a sense of proportion."
What's the point to anything at all then, you speck of dust?
Us, the non contributing zeroes of the universe, just trying to contemplate it all and making our own realities. Anything to belong. Anything to help us sleep at night. To save us from the boogeyman, any shoulder to keep us warm and comfortable.
Fuck, that.
"Cynical Realism is the intelligent man's best excuse for doing nothing in an intolerable situation." - Aldous Huxley.
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