Tag: lies

  • Silent Protest

    Silent Protest

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    A protest that cannot be articulated, is a protest spawned by futility, to feed futility.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    My contempt for what I am presented with is rarely expressed plainly. My reservations to express at all is grounded in years of ridicule and dismissal around issues I have held with great conviction. Experience is a bitter pill, whether swallowed or not. Each cycle of decay results in a shortening of the fuse that prompts us into action. I believe that our response at break point is chosen long before we reach that point. It’s not something that happens instinctively. Instead, it has been internalised for so long that when we do reach that tipping point, no contemplation or deliberation is needed. The response is not intended to be measured. It is intended to finally release the silent protest that we chose not to express outwardly for reasons that suddenly fade from significance.

    Silent protests are born when our pleas for sanity or reason go unanswered in a setting that we feel compelled to embrace. It’s a cry for recognition of who we are and what we need that has fallen on inattentive ears, or calloused hearts, leaving us bound to the commitments we once made, while resisting the urge to respond in kind lest we be reduced to the same stature of that which we have grown to despise. But the contempt is not easily expressed. The contempt is reined in to ensure that the commitment remains the priority. After all, in the absence of the commitment, no such claim of aloofness would be credible.

    So the silent protest plays out, often for years, and assumes a sub-conscious frame of reference that we rarely realise exists. The weightiness sets in, the lethargy overwhelms, the fatigue smothers, and the passion withers. Life ceases to be life at this point. Instead, it steps aside to allow existence to take over. Existence, then, becomes the final protest. It protests the onset of death, denies the potential of life, and secretly yearns for both.

    Breathe. Exhale. Remind yourself why the silent protest started, if indeed you are able to remember, and decide if it is still worth the commitment you are trying to honour. If you can’t remember, then remind yourself about where your passion once flared, and use that as a point to return to in order to retrace your steps to the point where you lost your voice.

  • The silent lie

    The silent lie

    Dishonesty isn’t always a lie. It’s often an unspoken truth. In fact, unspoken truths are probably the source of more dishonesty than outright lies.

    We remain silent when we feel threatened by the revelation of the truth.

    That threat is not always about exposure of who we are. Sometimes, it’s because we don’t want to bear the responsibility of meeting the expectations that are raised if we spoke out.

    Like speaking out in defence of the truth, or vouching for someone’s character, or giving due credit. It all demands that we follow through with sincerity and consistency.

    This is most often the reason why we choose to be dishonest and remain silent, instead of speaking out and accepting the responsibility of the consequences.

  • Honest Lies

    Honest Lies

    Dishonesty is the worst form of disrespect. It’s a show of disrespect to yourself before it says anything about the value you place on others. Far too often we convince ourselves of the need for the lesser of two evils to justify the dishonesty, but in the process we set in motion a sequence of events that undermines the very same greater good that those lesser evils are supposed to serve.

    It is so easy to shy away from being unpopular while claiming to uphold good relations. White lies aside, it’s the dark truths that we don’t have the courage to utter that convinces us that anyone else would have done the same thing; protect ourselves from vulnerability or weakness at all costs, because everyone does it, so it must be right. Vulnerability or weakness is only that if we care about appearing inept or incapable of fulfilling an expectation that others have of us. We start out by convincing ourselves that we dare not disappoint someone special and thus step on the slippery slope of dishonesty, instead of accepting that it is in fact our pride in not wanting to appear inept or incapable that we chose to hide in the first place.

    But why hide it? Surely if they’re so special they will understand and love us for the weaknesses we hold within? Perhaps it’s because we made them special before they earned such stature in our lives? We build the pedestals that we place them on and then curse them for tumbling down from the top of it. We build those pedestals for them because believing that they are deserving of it feeds our need to be associated with such amazing humanness. It is the curse of needing validation and inclusion. That feeling of acceptance and not being alone. Too many sell their souls to fill that gap only to realise that the gap filled with lies and pretences evicted their soul in the process. It’s the easiest path to losing yourself to the world and then wondering why the world has no sweetness left in it. Perhaps such idealism has no place in a society that has normalised dishonesty.

    The veneer of who we are is infinitely more important than the substance below the surface. That’s why so many are crushed the moment the veneer is stripped away and the substance of who they are is laid bare for them and the world to see. We polish the image and embellish it with intricate details, convinced that the detail is the substance, but still forgetting that it’s only for the facade. It only reveals the prettiness of the aesthetic while concealing the bitterness within. The bitterness spawned by failed relationships, dysfunctional homes, judgemental social structures, and a lack of authenticity in a life unlived.

    Not everyone experiences life this way. There are some that have wholesome relationships, a healthy self esteem, and contribute meaningfully towards those around them with a healthy dose of gratitude in return. But given the level of rage in the world, the masses that hide from responsibility and seek abdication instead are by far the greater of the two groups. Given the trinkets and distractions that have formed the wealthiest industries in the world, the wholesome ones are few, and insular. Insular from fear of contamination, I suspect.

    But reality is what we experience it to be. Lies or not, we’re all frogs boiling in the proverbial pot, adapting to the delusions as they form thick and fast around us, while becoming expert navigators through its jungle of deceit without noticing the life that such proficiency denies us. We ascend to the top of the canopies of that jungle and look down around us feeling triumphant and fulfilled, not realising that true fulfilment lies at the edge of the jungle in the sun-kissed fields waiting for us to sow the crops that we wish to reap, rather than reap the thorns of the jungle of deceit.

    We lie with sincerity more often than we care to accept, because it’s the lie often spoken that becomes the truth. Our belief in it being true lends our sincerity to its telling, but does not in any way convert a lie to the truth. We’re all honest liars at some point in our lives. Problem is, those some points become many points, and eventually become the norm for too many of us. That is why the world is now a daydream that ends in a nightmare more often than it is a nightmare that ends in a pleasant awakening.

  • Authentic Toxicity

    Authentic Toxicity

    Therapeutic expression has been elusive for some time now. Deliberately writing to finish a compilation of thoughts tends to constrain the thoughts themselves. It feels like herding cats, a sensation akin to seeking constructive engagement in a toxic environment. The benefit of a toxic environment is that it tends to provide sufficient distractions from the emptiness that it fosters. That emptiness is most prominently experienced when you exit from such a toxic space.

    The toxicity provides a sense of morbid purpose at times. That morbidity, however, is only ever felt when the efforts to achieve a positive outcome from herding the cats results in the dispersal of the cats, and a box of litter in your hands. The optimist looks at the litter in the box and celebrates the fact that it is contained. The pessimist looks at the litter and feels cheated out of the purring comfort of the cats that littered only to be left with the litter and not the affectionate embrace. The realist takes the litter box, empties it out, and moves on to find another cat to fill the litter box in the hope that the next round of litter will be accompanied by an affectionate exchange as well.

    Sometimes we’re so fixated on the hurt or the pain of betrayal that we hold on to that litter believing that it is an essential and defining part of the box. The box, of course, being our capacity to embrace life. Speaking in metaphors remains a cryptic skill that avoids unwanted scrutiny. Scrutiny is only good if not practiced for the sake of gossip or morbid curiosity. There are too many that show an interest in the problems of others simply because they need to feed their egos by internally (sometimes overtly) comparing the wholesomeness of their own lives to the life of the one that is feeling at odds with the world. Far too often that sense of wholesomeness is grounded in the convenience of being surrounded by others that have less. It doesn’t feel so wholesome when surrounded by others that have more.

    The sincere ones focus on those that have less so that they (the sincere ones) can gain an appreciation for what they have, while the insincere focus on the same so that they can feel superior and be recognised for their superiority. Authenticity does not feature for the kind that live their lives in the spotlight, even though that spotlight is powered up by their own egos for most of their lives. The meek under-estimate what good is in their own lives, and therefore celebrate the same icons who power up their own spotlights. Icons can be created through manipulation of the truth, but authenticity will continue to escape such a manufactured reality. That lack of authenticity leaves most feeling unfulfilled, including the icon worshipers. The realisation of such a lack of fulfilment manifests itself in the lives of the worshipers as an incessant subconscious yearning to have more and do more than the fickleness of the idol.

    We cannot wish away problems or adversity just as much as we cannot wish happiness into reality. Both are outcomes of our contribution towards its ends. Inactivity never yields happiness, it only ever yields complacency at best, and a festering of adversity at worst. A sincere choice made towards alleviating the adversity will provide a sense of fulfilment even if the outcome was unsuccessful. There is much joy and reward in knowing that you tried and failed, than to one day regret not having tried at all. That reward lies in the fact that despite your best efforts, the good you tried to impart was not thwarted because of a lack of effort on your part, but rather because of a lack of gratitude or awareness on the part of others. In that lies the secret to a peaceful life. The willingness to accept that despite our best efforts, success is not guaranteed, but in spite of the threat of failure, we chose to prevail.

    A brain dump carries its own sense of release from the angst of existing. Existence is a consequence of being, whereas life is a consequence of choice. I have always chosen to live, rather than to survive. A deep breath was never about regaining my composure or my footing, but instead, it was to take in the sweetness of everything that defined my experience in that moment, be it good or bad. Internalising the whole of the experience builds character, while internalising only the palatable feeds the ego. The ego does not exist independent of our choices. It is our choices. Too many blame their egos on their innate nature, when their innate nature has been stifled from fear of owning their life because of the risk of ridicule, or failure.

    Authenticity is in short supply. Everyone goes out searching for it in others, but very few offer it to those that seek it. Even less offer it despite them defining it as the minimum standard against which they will choose to show others due respect, or consideration. In a transactional culture, instant gratification is only a symptom of the insincerity of the masses to give before they receive. The epic proportions we have reached in this regard means that dignity is optional, and self-respect is not a consideration because self-respect has come to be defined by the trinkets of success that we have on display to the world, rather than the sense of accomplishment we have as a human being.

    Being human eludes us, while doing in humans has become a global sport.

  • Friends for Enemies

    Friends. I’ve always found this to be a quaint notion. Something that offers a sense of endearing companionship while providing a comforting distraction from our isolation in this world. I’m obviously cynical on the subject because I’ve experienced and witnessed true friendship quickly recede when reality became unpalatable. So I wonder if there is really something called true friendship?

    I think it’s all about that beautiful old principle about what’s in it for me. More than this, it also relates to our inflated sense of self, and how well the friendship nurtures that self-image. There are memes in abundance regarding the nature of true friends that would point out your shortcomings and not only make you feel good. But there are unfortunately not nearly an abundance of friends who want their shortcomings pointed out.

    One of my favourite sayings in this regard has been attributed to a number of different historical personalities, but its truth remains…well, true. It says that the friend of my enemy is my enemy, which in turn implies that the enemy of my friend is also my enemy. I guess that also means that the friend of my friend is my friend and the enemy of my enemy is also my friend. Anyway, point is, those that hate what we hate find a sense of association with what we value, and vice versa. Most would confine the understanding of this with just the relationship that they maintain with others, but I think it goes beyond that. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that it is more accurate to view this within the context of our characters, and which good or bad traits we recognise as friends or foe.

    Within the above context, suddenly the person that hates my bad traits and looks to encourage me to abandon such traits becomes my friend. However, that assumes that I sincerely want to improve that aspect about myself. It assumes that the bad trait is not something I hold on to as a definition of my self relative to a defence I need to prevail in this world. It assumes that I live with conviction, and that I strive to improve with every day that is offered to me. That’s a grossly inaccurate assumption. I struggle to find people that actively and sincerely seek to better themselves. To recognise their shortcomings and to bravely embrace the changes that are needed to raise the standard of their contribution to this world.

    Most are bent on embracing those struggles or shortcomings that resonate with others, and nothing more. When we show the world how brave we are to face off what everyone else is struggling with, it feeds our ego more than it develops our character. It proclaims that we are bold while others are meek, and in so doing gives us the courage to fight that good fight that defeats so many. And so we prop up our egos and assume that we’re sincere about improving who we are, while in the process convincing the shallow ones that we are indeed striving to improve. Yes, I speak with contempt of such endeavours because it only entrenches the insincerity that has eroded the wholesomeness of society and life in this self-indulgent world.

    The one who reflects, recognises the ugly inside of them, and then simultaneously celebrates the beauty within, is more likely to demonstrate gratitude for their lot in life than the one who only sees the ugly and tries to disguise it as a noble struggle. Those that live their lives out in the social network limelight need the affirmation that is lacking when they look within. They need to see themselves through the lenses of others because their own lenses offer little or no comfort at all. Their enemies become their friends, and robs them of peace and energy as they go through life painstakingly maintaining the defenses that they need to make them feel whole.

    The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The one who recognises the ugly in me and sincerely advises me about it is the one whom I should embrace. Not the one who convinces me that my darkness within is not a bad thing because everyone else has it. Not the one who tries to convince me that my darkness or my handicaps are not so bad because they want me to pull them closer for making me feel better about myself. They are self-serving at my expense, and I am left wanting because of it.

    With friends like these, indeed, who needs enemies. Friends or enemies both offer the opportunity for growth, but only if we are honest in our reflections and introspections about who we really are, and what we stand for. If we’re comfortable glossing over our shortcomings because we’re more inclined to celebrate our few strengths or successes, it will be a short while before we lose our footing and feel the stench of complacency strangle the peace out of our lives because at some point, everyone gets that wake-up call. Everyone has an innate desire to shrug off the yoke that has held them back for so long and to move forward with or without the significant others that pacified them while they carried that yoke around. That’s when relationships are truly forged and defined, or discarded.

    But it requires courage, and it requires conviction, and it requires brutal honesty, all of which are in short supply in a world of instant gratification where friends can be acquired and lifetime companions can be discarded in favour of a synthetic life. The more virtual our reality, the less real our lives will be. But death is not a virtual outcome. It’s not the end of a level or the expiration of a time limit on some game with in-app purchases. Perhaps that should read ‘inept purchases’. That is what we do. We sell our souls in favour of short term gains because we lack the courage to forge ahead into the unknown. We seek the comfort of certainty in the outcomes of our decisions, and therefore make decisions when we can rely on the predictable outcome, rather than making decisions because we uphold the principles that we profess to live by.

    Still think you have friends? In fact, still think you’re capable of being your own best friend? Go on, be honest. I dare you!

  • A Brain Dump

    Brain dumps are therapeutic, if you do it right. It allows a release, an unstructured release of the clouds that trail you through the day. Life demands structure, and structure demands discipline. Both have their place, but did you notice how beautifully random the structure of nature appears? It has probably the most complex system of checks and balances we’ll ever encounter, yet it thrives if appreciated, especially where such appreciation simply demands that it be left to find its own way.

    People can’t function like that. If left to find our own way, most are inclined to believe that no one cares. Hardly anyone recognises the freedom in that. I find myself caught in a health cycle that is unfamiliar to me. Having had an acute focus for many years now on the physiological impact that our emotions and thought patterns have on us, I lost sight of what keeps us above ground when it comes to navigating through that space. It’s so easy to get pulled into the quicksand that we’re always warning others about.

    Recurrent failures at building relationships that are not optional can create gaps in your soul that you don’t notice until the possibility of filling those gaps erodes almost completely. The decision on which relationships are optional and which are not is a simple one that is tied to our value systems. My need for authenticity will not allow me to be selective as to when I accept and embrace my responsibilities towards others, or when I set it aside for convenience’s sake. I am perfectly capable of abandoning or morphing my value system into one that is more convenient, but I know that the moment I do that, I will lose any legitimate claim to cry foul when others do the same.

    Optional relationships are the ones that hold no yoke over us if we neglect it. If there is no tie of kinship or contract, we are not under any obligation to care for or contribute to such relationships. Communal obligation, that is. Strange though that it seems like optional relationships tend to get the most investment these days. It seems as if these they provide us with needed distractions from the relationships grounded in responsibility and compulsion. There seems to be a demand for attention or reciprocation at every turn, mostly out of obligation rather than passion or purpose.

    It seems I’ve even forgotten how to do a brain dump. My health has been less than satisfactory recently, and almost all of it has been associated with a collage of duress that has coloured my life for a long time now. Each tile in the collage stems from an investment I made in others, some in a personal setting while others in a professional setting. Watching trust replaced by loyalty to the prevailing authority is commonplace these days. I’ve had to remind myself often in recent months that more should not be expected from the ones that worship titles and pursue labels and acronyms. But it’s the contagion of human nature. The moment we see beyond the superficial gusto that people present as their armour of confidence, it’s difficult not to sympathise with the child within.

    Too many times have I witnessed people reaching an old age while still not yet having achieved the state of being a fully formed adult. The difficulty lies in the rarity of adults. Most are overgrown children waiting for some childhood need to come to pass, while grudgingly accepting the responsibility that accumulates with the years. All the while, the essence of our lives are spent in waiting for others to do right by us. It rarely happens.

    Those that have crumbling spines suffer from a deficiency of bone density because they lack the courage to build what only they can build. The more we tell our bodies that we’re not good enough, the less our bodies will respond favourably when we need it to. If it is true that the soul is the seat of intelligence and the body merely a vessel for expression, then it stands to reason that we have the power to enable our bodies for good, or to turn it on itself in order to express the weakness we harbour within.

    I’ve been waiting with warranted hope that some relationships would have finally blossomed into the beauty that it once promised, but I forgot along the way that I was not the defining influence in those relationships. What contaminated it from without, I assumed to be a deficiency within the relationship, when in fact the only deficiency was that I held others to a standard that they did not subscribe to for themselves.

    The contention built up within me, slowly sapping my clarity of thought, then my energy, then my creative expression, gnawing away at my memory, and finally imposing the weight of its imbalance on my body which eventually caved in under all the pressure. It sounds like a dramatic description of the flu, but the reality is that it takes a chorus of failed expectations to wear me down, never just a single one.

    Those that succumb to a single betrayal have invested too much in a single part of their life. Worse than just the investment, they divested from their own lives. They assumed that entrusting another with more than their affection, in fact with everything they needed to breathe seemed like the ultimate expression of commitment to an outcome desired by both, but invested in by only one.

    Ill health is a sign of imbalance in the way we live our lives. Disease stands a greater chance of invading our bodies when our immune systems are focused on fighting the disruption we’ve created within. When we live under duress, we become easy pickings for our enemies. Be they disease or spineless creatures, the net effect is the same. We succumb to circumstances that would otherwise be opportunities for growth. The answer is so simple, yet so elusive.

  • A Legacy of Beauty

    Reminiscing about childhood is a popular pastime. Idyllic recollections of a life that never truly was is bolstered by time that is kind to us . It allows us to forget the harrowing details as we protect our fragile souls from the harsh reality of life. Those that treated us harshly often became a memory of those who cared, especially when their harshness was all we had access to. We become captives of the weakness of brutes because our submission is the only significance that they may feel in life. I sometimes wonder how many realise that their self-worth is based on their ability to subdue others.

    Time creeps by, as time tends to, while I find the present moment to pale in comparison to my selective recollections of a childhood that never was. Moments of peace that were in fact moments of isolation, and collective laughter that was often exclusive by nature. I speak of this as if it’s my own, but the incomplete smiles around me suggest that it is a shared reality that is often denied.

    As time morphs the pain into beauty it also morphs the beasts into angels. Those that manipulate the vulnerable suddenly appear as the downtrodden when their loss of control is lamented as a betrayal of love or affection. I sit with morbid amazement as I watch kids who are barely teens reminiscing about childhood and the wonderment that went with it as if it’s a long lost part of their lives, and I feel sad. The sadness deepens when I witness how their recollections embellish events to make it more wholesome or inclusive than it really was. The disease of the adults appears to have transcended a generation that used to be symbols of hope. Those symbols of hope are quickly becoming reminders of despair instead.

    The torch bearers have handed over the soot but retained the flames that should have been passed on as generational wisdom to guide the next. The next appear comfortable to accept the association with the soot as a gift of love while not noticing it is the self-love of their captors and not the love of their captors for them. That distorted reality shapes a distorted world that they set out to change, not realising that their efforts to change it merely taint it.

    I looked across the bathroom at the mirror from behind the shower door and suddenly realised how many would see the mirror as foggy while ignoring the steamed door in front of them. Those that are living an assumption of reality would seek to clean the mirror, while those that embrace reality will open the door.

    We all need to believe that our contribution, even if not appreciated, is a wholesome one. When we are deliberately offensive or destructive, we convince ourselves that it is needed to restore balance. When it works out in our favour, we believe we were right, and when it doesn’t, we believe we were wronged. The selective views we nurtured through life in our efforts to establish our significance and self-worth betray us with such subtlety that it leaves us convinced that we’re the misunderstood or unappreciated while everyone else is self-indulgent and ungrateful of our efforts to uplift them. Accountability rarely features for the distracted ones because it erodes the fantasy that has become their reality.

    Our collective subscription to such distraction leaves us sympathetic towards this feeble state in which we find them. If they weren’t echoing our own weaknesses so loudly, perhaps we would be able to see beyond their feigned sincerity and disrupt the fantasy just enough for reality to peep through. But that would rob us of our legacy of beauty that we have to believe is our contribution to this world. Without it, we become that which we despise, so we find kindred souls that are equally tainted so that we are secure in the fact that any effort on their part to expose our weakness will be rendered incredible simply because the kettle cannot call the teapot black. In there lies weakness in numbers.

    [I set out challenging myself to write a post about something beautiful and uplifting. My alternate view of reality insists that I achieved it, because if anyone sees this as dark, they don’t appreciate my beauty that I offer so selflessly to the world. So the darkness must surely be in them and not in me.]

    P.S. If you can understand this ramble, or worse, if you can relate to it, I question your sanity, and pray for your peace.

  • Sincerely Dishonest

    I’ve always believed that dishonesty is the worst sign of disrespect. I just wish I could dismiss it as pure dishonesty that easily. That burden of awareness can really weigh you down at times like this. Being aware of what drives others to be weak enough to be dishonest makes it nearly impossible to shun them.

    The reality behind the dishonesty is that we’re weak enough to believe that the truth of us will repulse those around us, and so we create alternate realities to court the affection of others, forgetting what a dark web it spins for us. I can only imagine how dreary those quiet moments must be when we are faced with the stark contrast between our life and the life we present to others about ourselves. It can only tear away at your self-respect even more, which is the irony of it all because it was that same low self-worth, or lack of respect for your self, that drove you to create that alternate reality in the first place.

    I’ve often looked at scum bags, really low life schmucks that are blatant about their immoral or underhanded behaviour without any concern for the perceptions of others. I wondered as to whether that is a reflection of confidence or a total disregard for acceptance, or perhaps it’s the total abandon of hope in receiving any such affection which makes the entire purpose of their life a protest against the wholesomeness of that which they’ve been denied.

    Provide those same scum bags with a teaser of hope in being included in something larger than themselves, and withhold it the moment they edge towards it, and you’re likely to see a level of anger and bitterness that drives them to violence. Violence in such cases is the ultimate form of protest while at the same time being the deepest cry for compassion. But the risk of any such compassion being temporary or unfulfilled is so real based on the past betrayals of their lives that they are more likely to spurn it rather than embrace it, because protecting themselves from loss is better than having and losing again. Or so it seems at the time.

    But I started out writing this post with a very different angle to this that played on my mind. I thought that only the most deliberate of lies must reflect disrespect, because you can’t possibly lie to someone that you claim to respect. While I believe there is truth in that, I also believe that a greater truth lies closer to the fact that it implies that your disrespect for yourself is greater than your respect for that person that you claim to respect, and when that dynamic comes into play, you’d rather sacrifice your standing with that person than reveal the ugly that swims around inside of you. Hence the lie that follows.

    Our response to that determines a number of things about us, not least of which is our commitment to the one that lies. Are we invested in raising their level of self-respect more than we are in gaining our rightful respect and appreciation from them, or is our investment in our rights greater? But it’s not that simple, because at some point the investment may cause a denial of rights to others because we have a limited capacity, both emotionally and materially. So we find ourselves in murky waters feeling contaminated by the murk while also feeling undeniably attached to it. Pulling away to save ourselves spawns the burden of guilt or responsibility that goes with such a decision, while remaining tethered weighs us down because of the lack of sweetness from such an investment. Any sweetness that it may hold is on hold until our investment pays off. If ever. And it’s that gamble that gnaws away at us in the quiet moments when we don’t have the distractions of life to save us from its contemplation.

    I am convinced that the liar holds more self-loathing than any loathing we may hold for them. I also think that we spurn their weakness because it can easily spawn similar weaknesses in us when we find ourselves faced with difficult choices. In those difficult moments, it’s easy to justify a dishonest response because ‘everyone’ else does it, so it is entirely understandable. But such justification only provides some peace as long as we’re convinced of its truthfulness. That’s when we choose to surrender our principles in favour of ease, or we grudgingly hold on while also denying the reality of our weakness. That creates the tension within us that drives us to seek distractions around us, eventually leading to chronic ailments of the heart and the body that robs us of our sanity and self-respect as we grow older.

    My thoughts are almost entirely incoherent this morning, so this is my attempt at seeking sanity among the insane. I guess it’s also entirely possible that scum bags are not really scum after all, and that the true scum bags are the ones that betrayed their trust (probably at an early age) that resulted in their loathing for this world, and anyone that represents the warmth that they’ve been denied.