Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:
“The romanticism of masochistic
self-destruction could be tempting, but only to them who have not being
subjected to the sadistic rituals of being destructed carefully. They must be
naïve, for the reality of being destructed by someone is much more than a mere
revelation, it is as if you are put on a trial you did not expect and even
before you realize you are pronounced guilty, only to be awarded the honor of
being at receiving end along with irreparable consequences, bonus? One that
turns you into a ghost, presents you with a paradigm of nightmare, while you
find yourself dumbstruck trying to regain before it’s too late, knowing you
would never; after-all it was you who wanted it, no? Imagine watching yourself
being torn away, piece by piece, in cold blood, without showing a least of
emotion, while you are unconscious perhaps, or drunk, may be even sedated, does
it matter? While you are in an orgasmic adventure being stomped, spit upon,
abused and raped, your conscience killed, you turned into a living zombie
having no soul. Soul? Would you even remember having any entity of that sort,
for being declared morally bankrupt you are supposed to be as hollow as those
words spoken for the victims of a disowned genocide who could not find a place
in the after-math report being filed by indifferent officials who appeared
rather in hurry to finish off before its noon.
Though at the end of both the difference isn’t
much perhaps, leaving aside the bits and pieces amid leftover ashes of a burnt
identity and a drunk solitude.”
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