What must it be like to live in abject fear?
Not the everyday variety. Life is hard, and we’re all scared, to some degree. Sickness, death, birth, life…the mysteries of existence. These things have torn at the psyche of great (and lesser) men since time began.
Fear itself is not new.
What I’m talking about is a different kind of fear. One that keeps you from leaving your house. One that causes you to change the name you were born with. One that pushes you into deluding your fellow citizens into the nightmare COVID regime.
All because, at your core, you are a scared, old man who’s simply afraid to die.
You’ve never had any real convictions your whole life. You’re proud of that, even! Or, so you say. In reality, you are a scared child praying, hoping, wishing that you could escape your just rewards. You’ll do anything, suck off any one, to avoid it. You simply can’t live as you have portrayed yourself. It’s too much! You cry about it in Twitter dm’s, you whine to your fat Asian hog….but deep down, you know this is what you signed up for.
And you can’t fucking stand it.
You entire life is a fabrication. You duck and dive and do whatever you possibly can to avoid the piper getting paid. You put your own family at risk. You do anything, anything at all, to avoid simply owning up to your deeds. You have no core whatsoever, and what you do claim as personality traits are simply things you read on a message board.
Most people would see this as a hellish existence…because it is.
There are mistakes I have made, to be sure. But I could never, and would never, live like a fucking bitch. Scared to leave my house…scared of the name my Daddy gave me…scared of fucking COVID…scared of anything and everything.
It’s all terror to you when the microphone is off.
We all know it, too. It’s very easy to see a scared old man, coughing up one of his last breaths in between lame monologues that weren’t even funny 2 years ago, much less now.
I literally would have rather died in the street the other day here in Lisbon than live like a fucking coward, if you can even call what I described above as “living.”
Some people are fine with the delusions. They are comforted by them, even. I understand! I, too, used to love the thought of Santa Claus, or the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy. But there comes a time when childish delusions about a childless loser must come to an end.
It’s the natural course of life, you see.
Well, if you actually live life. If you live like scared, old, bitch…well, maybe you continue on in your delusions.
I won’t hold it against you!
The Emperor has no clothes, he has no children, and he has very few white blood cells left (allegedly).
Maybe, in another life, he wasn’t such a pussy.
See you tomorrow night on the Killstream!