What bugs me lately is that in order to decipher, unravel, make sense of something one must be a dispassionate observer. BUT. That's exactly my problem as of late. I feel too much of an observer. I feel totally disengaged with life. Things are happening and I don't give a damn. People die, animals die, and I am blissfully detached. On the contrary, I read about a character in a comic book suffering and I cry. It's fucking tragic, crying for paper people and not crying about my father who died. It's tragic cause he turned himself into a total stranger, and I had to build a fortress to keep him out and never let him hurt me again, and I don't have a single happy memory from him. Even now, in his last days, I stood by his side and let him feel loved and safe, but I never opened the door of my heart to him again. The door does not open anymore, a wall has sealed it off, and I can't pull the wall down for anyone, anymore. It's tragic cause I am turning into a total wacko and feel pity for those people and things inside my head (and other people's heads) and not those around me. It truly makes me worry. Perhaps I should not worry, but I feel I am turning into a walking statue. I feel I am losing my connection to real life. And what is real life, exactly? That sanitised, joyless version of working like a slave and your every surprise being predetermined, your every choice and encounter controlled? Is it any wonder that I sympathise more with heroes from books and comics?
I want to give a few kicks to a few asses, but haven't discovered the people these asses belong to. YET.
3 comments:
You could always take a blanket coverage approach. Lots of people probably "had it coming to them", if you think about it for long enough.
You can always cry for those "paper people" and not cry for anyone else. I feel almost the same way, though I cry and cry for my grand dad when he gets anything. I still have 3 people to cry for, but my dad's family are those whom I still have the joy to dance on their grave...
I looks like you, in a certain point, but I don't cry for paper people, I cry when actors, in a strange (more or less) movie I see, have a more emotional scene... Weird, huh?! I am such a sensitive soul, which almost can't stand the rude side of life, which try to buries the head under the sand, to doesn't a get a single bit of that violence. But violence is just real and I take my head out of the sand and I admire those bodies with no soul, marching the streets, settling bombs, fighting, running, screaming... The night comes and the streets are empty and in any corner there's the killer, with death by his/her side, waiting for the next victim... Who knows, maybe I'm the next one and the killer is one of my friends...
People should work hard to earn your respect. Harder yet to earn your love. Self-preservation is an intrinsical and basic human instict. It's there for a reason, to use it. So don't feel bad for feeling estranged from your late dad. Be proud for not masquing as a sea of sentiment. Nothing wrong with living one's truth...
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