eccothekitten's Journal

welp. I should definitly be sleeping. But there is no sleep for me to have. Not now. I sit here and think, mostly of what to write, but moreover, why I would write it. Is life nothing but a spectacle, an unending performance art. It's like how my favorite boss put it to me, or something like it:
Life is shit. Well, more like you are shit, and life is the toilet. You bump into other shit, and get a little of it on you and you on it. It's the physics of people obviously.
I'm sure he worded it better. He did have that unquestionable aura of wisdom in which its passage from him to you couldn't be refined or improved, in that Chinese Mastah type of.. archetype. In any case, the question remains. No, not THE question, to which I already have the answer. But a more important sub-division of it. We're just here for soemone else's amusement, mostly. I mean, even if the tree does make a sound, when no one's there to hear it, the fact remains, that no one is there to hear it. which ultimately means, no one cares. If theres no way to prove it, and the answer is irrelivant anyway... then I really shouldn't have to finish that. Your existence is meaningless without its observation, isn't it. Let's pretend for a moment that all buddhistic hermits are hereby enlightened, and not you, so don't use them as an example.
You are a puppet of the world, dancing to your own music on the stage of your own wood. Are you waiting for an audience, or a partner on the stage. Are you lucky enough to have them already. What is life if someone is not there to observe it. Which brings me to this:
"life" essentially, is people.
Because NOTHING you know could possibly be exempt from it. from people I mean. Yes yes, nature, as if possibly untouched by man... whatever. No no, life is people, the ones who show you nature, and its demise, on TV. Life is buildings and catastrophe, news, gossip, death, renewal, emotions... it's all people. All the life you could ever love or cry for would be human, even if your favorite cat died, you'd be doing something directly thereafter for and to people. painting, screaming, performing any of the grotesque, pre-dictated avenues of expression. When you say life sucks, you Always and Can Only mean people.
People are more responsible for the cycles of suck than anyone but me seems to think. They call it luck, karma, coincidence. God even, or Satan. Whichever fits the task. You're mad you didn't get the job. Was it because he was a minority? Affirmitive blacktion right, that's a pretty human implication. Was it because of that thing, that slipped in the interview, that you hoped you wouldn't say, but managed to. Or maybe you didn't see it coming. It's appeasing a hierarchy, masked by equality for money, since we no longer barter to survive. That's a pretty human implication. I mean think about it, you can only murder something human. Or you can kill an animal, but even environmentalist shy from the word murder. Somehow, those lacking thumbs and literature are not worthy.
People are greedy, thats why you get fucked. That's why you get used, excluded, extorted, exploited. Don't blame it on irony, or karma, or divinty. If anything, you can start with yourself, for thinking that they wouldn't fuck you. For being surprised when they did. I think the chaos is all very admirable, an orchestration truly unique and profound, the contradtiction, the oblivion, the tears. They are all such pretty colors in the painting, the painting which people seem determined to paint over. Stop pointing a finger and open your eyes. Enjoy the torture, the irony, the dance between unimportant nemesises, as they strive to secure their gaudily selfish well being. They are like waves, of different oceans, identical but colliding, competing, rejoining. Rippling into indistinguishable consequences. How high 'life' would put you, to watch the show, if you only knew you were in it.

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