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Sharing the Hate, Spreading the Pain: On Crashing Waves

by on May.22, 2008, under Articles, Sharing the Hate

I hear the waves crashing in the distance. These waves, powered by the gravitational force of the moon are always at high tide. The high tide occasionally rises higher, but one would never call the valley low tide if it were higher than it was yesterday. The water still rises, and with the rising water comes the need to build a bigger wall. We all protect ourselves with our self-made walls. Some walls are tall and thin, others are short and thick. Still yet, others are tall and thick. Typically, the less one has to protect the bigger and thicker the wall is. What possibly could a human maggot try to protect within the confines of their barrier wall?

Your construction of that wall will give more away to the trained eye than what you are trying to protect. As you build this wall, you reveal yourself through the artistic slant placed in the foundation. The flaws become the building blocks of your towering heap of rubble. The older you get, the weaker your foundation becomes until you collapse your own wall and drown in your own misery.

These Ramparts you built fight off invasion from the Vikings and Pirates of the high seas. Those marauders will pillage, rape, and desecrate your core being if given a chance. They will always leave unsatisfied since that being is empty. Other lesser barbarians chip away slowly at your precious wall though. These lesser barbarians come constantly and inconspicuously while they chip away quietly in the night. They will cause your foundation to collapse, because you do not protect yourself from them.

The waves of dissonance and discord smash into the barrier reefs of reality. As each wave crests into the pier, it takes with it a plank of wood, and a barnacle or other sea creature that made its refuge against the shoring. The cresting waves each take, and continue to take back to the sea what once was whole. The cresting waves in return give the shattered remains of what once was living in the form of shell, sand, and seaweed. This attrition makes it easier for the marauders to claim what is left.

Push away all others, and build your wall higher as the water starts to rise. Spend your entire life protecting yourself from the outside world, and never look inside to see there is nothing to protect but the opposite side of the wall. Your hollow existence you call hallow, living in fear is your only reward. I congratulate you for that, and I will contemplate shedding a tear at your funeral someday. Perhaps I will say something to someone who will shed a tear for me at your funeral.

I will talk to you later, I will see you around, and I will call you in the future all become funeral hymns to me. I am a witness to walking death, and leave behind blight and plague in my wake. I might as well wish them a good life at the end of the night and send them packing. I am bard who sings dirges into the early hours of the morning. I knew them only briefly and gained nothing but torment for the occurrence. Perhaps I gave them something to contemplate to chip away at their walls in return.

Once you are gone, there will be a sea of others to take your place. I hear waves crashing, so my idle raft must be coming over the horizon to shatter someone’s reality as I stare at them with the demented eyes. Am I smiling, or baring his fangs in aggression? Am I laughing with you, at you, or at the situation in general?

I place my hand into the ocean and I feel despair. This despair will never quench my thirst, but just infect the world and those around me with pain, sorrow, and agony. However, it is the only way to see past the barrier and know if there is anything behind it. The only way is to follow the course of the waves, tasting the water to gage progress.


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