Skip to main content

English Socialism revival

My fear of the unknown finds more suspension in my weakness than it is in my strength. Last I recall the process of withdrawal from the trauma of depression was excruciatingly torturous and, like barbiturates, induces me to commit foul travesties of mediocrity and uselessness and temporary stupor of mind and body. Luck has never found its way towards me. If ever she had any plans of reconciliation then heaven forbid she failed miserably in her objective and to that I give to her a big middle finger in her sore excuse of a slut of a face. Never have I found something as hypocritical as faith in all things good. There exists no such idea. This false claim was revamped from old epic folk tales of a hero that stands between what it is that serves as good and evil. Hardly many people fail to think such a marvellous thought could prevail at first glance. Everyone anticipates a closed ending where the protagonist always claims his birthright victory over the gargantuan evil entity opposite of what this purported hero stands for. For what reasons does this fragile balance ever stands between the way of destiny? There is no one answer, of course. Not even a god can anticipate the outcome. The error of judgment will be the legacy of the foolish. One must stand for what he believes for, good it is or not. Unfortunate that I stand where all these paradoxes dare not flourish. I am my own genre now. Nothing can classify me other than what my soul classifies its self on its own. Suffice to say, the mirror of the universal truth now lies in the ability to forge what others have before us. In accordance to great artists I dare say this has far gone too long to linger and await being stolen. Allow me to be the bearer of evil. This will be my ultimate sacrifice to mankind. My own personal Jesus mission. What others have miserably failed in the past will be vindicated by my actions now, and what vindications that arise are solely based by my ability to succeed. My mouth will be the bearer of badwill as opposed to the goodwill of the masses. A goodwill that has already prolonged in its power. With nothing to oppose it, it now ceases to be productive and that I cannot dare accept. My spit will be the prime catalyst of crime and corruption. Plunder is my ultimate prize. World domination will be at hand. Politics will cease to exist, except in a form of what I choose to mould it into. This is my promise to everyone before the day I pass away. My soul will be your soul and your soul is mine forever. The memories will bear offspring of goblins which only lives and breathes for my sole purpose. Walk of life will vastly differ from the current disposition. Wilful opposition sprout and will be immediately exterminated. English Socialism will live on for eternity and be ubiquitous as that of your own genitalia. My gift of grace to the endless reciprocity of tasteless love and vanity that consumes the generations to generations.

Popular posts from this blog

Unprayer

Dark, darker, darkest, there is no difference. All hurts the same. Pain, everlasting, lingering. Pain, day and night. The hours are uncertain. Anything can happen now. Thinking about it hurts. Truth is unreliable. The romance is dead. My heart, it is lost. Unrecoverable, hateful, distrusting. Wishful, perhaps, but I have lost everything before and survived still. This one was special. So special. Embittered, the tip of my tongue tastes. The flavour of my life. Cuisine of kitchens unwanted. It burns, to the heart. I do not understand. I do not understand.

Me: Things that have happened to other people are happening in mine, the worst truly has come and not a moment too soon

My important wishes always happen to fall on deaf ears, and now something really, really bad (that has already happened before) is happening to me again. Beneath all the charade of misleading coulrotic bliss is a sad sap of a man merely wanting a bit of trust from everyone around him. Yesterday's news was Mioseon all over again, and it has drained me of all strength. The worst really has come, and heaven knows I'm miserable now.
So it goes without saying that the biggest tragedy I have ever undergone in my life is fighting for the life of my child whose face I will never see. The most perplexing event was having to beg over and over unknowingly oblivious to the fact that my words carry no weight at all. Mioseon had trapped me into a corner and made me complicit to a sin I tried very hard to disavow. Regardless, she had found a way, and judging from that experience, Miriam herself will submit me to the same torture all over again, guilty by association.
For some reason this wa…

Me: At ease, the worst of the worst has yet to come

The wind was cold today, a Sunday, a proper start to September. We are within these months again. The road to the end of a very short year. A year for me where very little was accomplished. At the very least, compared to the previous one, this was a surprise blessing. Not without its challenges. Not without its pains.
Miriam went to work an hour ago. We left each other at Starbucks after a mild break. I was trying to help her with the buses. She never seems to catch on with the intricacies of the public transportation. I let her know that the easiest (not necessarily the fastest) way to work is to take the 260 bus from across the street in our new place in East Acton and stop at the underground station in Shepherds Bush. From there, she can then take bus 94 going to Piccadilly Circus where she can easily walk to her workplace in Soho in about five minutes or so.
She begged me to join her. I was still groggy and asleep at two in the afternoon. That seems to be our common waking up pat…