Some people are biased. Some people possess ideas. A friend of mine holds knowledge to be the ultimate key to find happiness. Another believes that intelligence is the best way to assess a human being.
I would like to take this opportunity to let people know that I have been familiar with extremely intelligent people, and have realized they are just as gullible and stupid as those who decided that intelligence was not their forte.
In some places, I have been called rough, crude and vulgar. In some other, stupid has been the order of my day. But I like the term obtuse. I like it because it can lead into so many different conclusions.
While I do not like passing judgments right and left, I do believe that some people make friends with the "Right", the "Intelligent", the "Cool" and the "Happening" and they refuse to see people who does not go with their formed opinions. I have met people who have judged (among others) me and dismissed, and I have taken real pleasure in making them re-analyze and revise their opinion about me. Gives me a perverse pleasure to see people who at first glance would turn away, turn back and smile or even hold their houses open for me to enter.
Somehow this is turning into a slightly bitter post. Its just that, I really hate people who boxes others up into tiny slots based on their race, sex, nationality, individuality, personality and colour.
Showing posts with label bile. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bile. Show all posts
January 27, 2009
August 05, 2007
BILE
Bile.
Bile rises sometimes... from the innards that you took for granted. At the mess.
You rage. You fight against it coming out. You hate yourself for the mass of acidic sick erupting from your bowels, shooting out of your mouth. But you say it. You go ahead and throw the sickness at the world and revel in the pleasure of numbness inside your mouth.
And then you see a little girl playing in the gutters. The girl has pushed her arms through a polythene packet's handles, and the packet balloons out behind her... the illusion it gives.... it looks like wings. White wings.
And the girl's happy.
And all is well again. You go from place to place, stumble from block to block and falsely smile.
You tell people you adore how much you adore them, and then they tell you you look hurt.
What have I done, my sweetest friend???
Its all a mess, I tell them. All a lie. A big sham, and its just the beginning.
And someone looks over, from high and low, from all sides, including the inside, and smiles, and smiles, and smiles some more, because thats all there is to it.
You save the bile inside that smile. And one day it erupts with a little whimper of pain, and then it gushes.
Bile rises sometimes... from the innards that you took for granted. At the mess.
You rage. You fight against it coming out. You hate yourself for the mass of acidic sick erupting from your bowels, shooting out of your mouth. But you say it. You go ahead and throw the sickness at the world and revel in the pleasure of numbness inside your mouth.
And then you see a little girl playing in the gutters. The girl has pushed her arms through a polythene packet's handles, and the packet balloons out behind her... the illusion it gives.... it looks like wings. White wings.
And the girl's happy.
And all is well again. You go from place to place, stumble from block to block and falsely smile.
You tell people you adore how much you adore them, and then they tell you you look hurt.
What have I done, my sweetest friend???
Its all a mess, I tell them. All a lie. A big sham, and its just the beginning.
And someone looks over, from high and low, from all sides, including the inside, and smiles, and smiles, and smiles some more, because thats all there is to it.
You save the bile inside that smile. And one day it erupts with a little whimper of pain, and then it gushes.
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