Thousands of fucking thousands of people die everyday. A person dies and we realise a whole life just ended there, no matter in what way, it just ended. Finished; a whole amazing and complex being, gone. Forever, no matter what it means. In our perception of time, it is dead forever. "It", yes! The whole earth dies slowly as well do all living beings on it. And we just watch. I'll explain, humans. When you hear the number of people dead on a catastrophe of any type, it gets to you some way. When a family member dies, a close one, it fucks you up bad. But when thousands of people die everyday, you just magically put it to the back of your little selfish heads and you watch. So does Rafael. He watches and he knows he does nothing about it. Same as you all. Because you need to forget all that pain the world is cursed with and you need to forget about bigger problems to think of your own and survive. Well us cats can't do that. You shouldn't have taken the Nature we had. When you look me in the eyes and say everything is gonna be alright I just disappear. That's not me. I know how to be fully aware of everything. I am aware of all the pain that comes from everything whether I have experienced it or someone else has. Because I know there is pain, I feel pain. And in order for you humans to be happy, you just turn off that awareness all of us beings have and stop thinking, you just feel. And trust me, I am jealous of you, I really am. You all be happy and watch. I'll live through ages of pain until the world ends and I end with it.
Don't know if I'll ever write again. If I do, don't read it.
The Cat -
Near Death
Fuck, it's been a lot. A lot to digest and to live. And since I don't really know how to express myself these days... That's right, I don't. I can't, don't know why. So how could I tell what had been going on if I can't even write? I couldn't. But you know what? Fuck this. I don't care anymore. I don't really care anymore. About anything. I've been watching some crazy shit and let me tell you, insane people are right, we shouldn't care. Or should we? Insane means they're not thinking right, right? Wrong. They're just different, you know? I'm different. And I don't care. Not anymore. I just want to live. Oh my fucking Cat, this is turning out horrible, I don't really know how to talk or write anymore. Motherfucking broken mind, fuck you. FUCK.
I'm dying.
I'm dying.
Everybody seems to be capable of telling and expressing exactly what they feel. But me, my mind, this enormous hurricane of feelings and thoughts that twirl becoming an endless spiral, from when I wake up until I fall asleep, and my body all together are not able to produce one definition. Love, horror, sadness, joy, excitement and depression are all part of this experience I've grown found of.
The desire of saying something makes me think and try to come up with an idea, a not-too-complex thought about what I feel. It also makes me want to forget about it and go do something else, because I just can't find a solution. I'm living in the present and the present is so much for itself already, why make it even more complex? Well, that's me, I do stuff like that. Why? Ask Rafael, I'm only a Cat. I guess I'm settling for enormous atmospheres, nets of paradoxal concepts, which wrestle peacefully in my mind. And that's why I don't feel like striving to have a structured opinion about myself and my thoughts and wills (but I also do...). I'm settling for freedom. And please, do not relate this to any political points of view, I'm not in the mood today (since politics bring that sense of enclosure most of the times).
Today I want to feel free. And confused. And loved and horrifying.
Alive.
Haven't wrote for a whole month, I know. But this is so hard to write...
I guess I've been too scared. Too scared to stop and look. To really see myself and all I've done. Not because I feel I won't like it. It's just that stopping makes everything and everyone wait. Makes them all wait for me to take action and I just want to stop for a while. But stopping means thinking. It makes me realize that I have little time. In other words, I'm screwed.
Life’s a one way road. You can drive, because that’s what you’d normally do on a road, run, or fly. Either way, you’re going to get to the end of the road someday. And while you’re at it (the living and not thinking about death thing) you can’t turn back, only with your mind. But is that really a problem? I don’t think I want to be a kid again. Sure it was good while it lasted but I want to live the rest of my life just as everybody else. From what I’ve seen, it is a hell of a ride. So what is it? What was it? What kept me from writing? It’s being kind of hard to pull the words out of my head right now and I didn’t even have the guts to stare at my beautiful black blog for more than a minute, this last month. And when I started writing this post, I thought it was going to be all darkish and “emoish”. Is it? Not the last part, right? I can’t believe I’m actually asking you something I don’t have an answer for. Guess that spoils the text a bit. But I mean, it was already ruined with the “Life’s a one way road”. When did I get so poetic? (now I do have an answer) That’s what listening to Pearl Jam does to you. CD in, next song times four, play. There we go: “Hey Foxymophandlemama, That's Me”. Not so poetic this time. Just genius. Should we enjoy pain as we enjoy sex? Should we see the inducing of pain as a sample of love? That’s another story. Music has too much influence in my writing; I can’t even remember what I was writing about at the beginning of this post. Does it even matter? As long as you have something to think about after you read it, it’s fine.
There, think away, you’re free to do it. And remember, don’t ever judge a cat’s sanity. We all think outside the box. But also keep this in mind: there are some things you can’t see or understand. And we do.
Sincerely mine,
The Cat
(first ever signed post because I don’t like to sign. Couldn’t let the paradoxal me fade away)
I guess I've been too scared. Too scared to stop and look. To really see myself and all I've done. Not because I feel I won't like it. It's just that stopping makes everything and everyone wait. Makes them all wait for me to take action and I just want to stop for a while. But stopping means thinking. It makes me realize that I have little time. In other words, I'm screwed.
Life’s a one way road. You can drive, because that’s what you’d normally do on a road, run, or fly. Either way, you’re going to get to the end of the road someday. And while you’re at it (the living and not thinking about death thing) you can’t turn back, only with your mind. But is that really a problem? I don’t think I want to be a kid again. Sure it was good while it lasted but I want to live the rest of my life just as everybody else. From what I’ve seen, it is a hell of a ride. So what is it? What was it? What kept me from writing? It’s being kind of hard to pull the words out of my head right now and I didn’t even have the guts to stare at my beautiful black blog for more than a minute, this last month. And when I started writing this post, I thought it was going to be all darkish and “emoish”. Is it? Not the last part, right? I can’t believe I’m actually asking you something I don’t have an answer for. Guess that spoils the text a bit. But I mean, it was already ruined with the “Life’s a one way road”. When did I get so poetic? (now I do have an answer) That’s what listening to Pearl Jam does to you. CD in, next song times four, play. There we go: “Hey Foxymophandlemama, That's Me”. Not so poetic this time. Just genius. Should we enjoy pain as we enjoy sex? Should we see the inducing of pain as a sample of love? That’s another story. Music has too much influence in my writing; I can’t even remember what I was writing about at the beginning of this post. Does it even matter? As long as you have something to think about after you read it, it’s fine.
There, think away, you’re free to do it. And remember, don’t ever judge a cat’s sanity. We all think outside the box. But also keep this in mind: there are some things you can’t see or understand. And we do.
Sincerely mine,
The Cat
(first ever signed post because I don’t like to sign. Couldn’t let the paradoxal me fade away)
Happiness Denied. Try again.
"WE're all trapped with what we've got, free with what we have to use. We're free! And that gives us the possibility to be happy" - Somebody said this and somebody lied. At least that's my opinion. How can someone be happy in poverty? How CAN someone survive extreme misery, the same misery that we, humans gave 'em, our brothers and sisters?
Let's start a revolution people, c'mon! And don't tell me it's too late, don't tell me it's too hard. It's hard for the people suffering and whose rights are being completely ignored. Not for you. It will BE hard for you and maybe that's what it takes to make people act. Because we don't act out of compassion, but we'll surely act under suffering and fear. And that's just embarrassing.
I said the first quote. I denied it and argued against it. And now I say it can be done, that it is true: everyone can be happy.
The thing is that not everybody wants you to be HAPPY.
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