Tuesday, 2 February 2016
Photo credit: scratcherpen.deviantart.com
Something is stirring. The moon has been out during the day. It makes our kind more intuitive. More sensitive to the unseen, subtle shifts and covert little nigglings seemingly so clever and courageous to the poor little empty hearted souls who try to concoct them. We can smell it a mile away and we no longer need to put a lot of effort into sniffing them out and hunting them down, do we. Silly little cunts. They tell us where they're going to be and when. Like this.
What should we do? Should we just shut it down now? Nice and quickly. Clean. Leaving only a small cloud of dust that evaporates as quickly as it came. Or should we play a bit. Tease and torment, ridicule, humiliate. Stoop to the levels they're attempting to impose. Speak their language. You know, hold up a mirror for them to reflect upon their own image. Teach them a lesson. Get off our self righteous pedestal because being better people has not served us well with them. They don't speak the language of compassion. We have to be as brutal as they are. Fight Fire with Fire. Get our hands dirty. Dive in head first and come out bruised and bloodied, because it's what they want and what will ultimately give us the most satisfaction, because we want to take them down hard and revel in the blood lust of our ultimate triumph. Because of course we will win. We already have. We do, over and over again. It's not even an even fight. Poor fuckers. They don't even know it. They still don't even know it. They lose and fall and fail time and time again, but they still come back for another smack down.
It's getting exhausting. But they're not giving us a choice. No matter how much we shout "STAY DOWN. STAY DOWN MOTHER FUCKER. DON'T GET UP AGAIN. JUST STAY DOWN. KNOW YOUR FUCKING PLACE."
They think we're taking the piss. They think we are just appropriating them. They think we're mimicking them. They think our intentions are just like theirs. To win. To take power. To alleviate our fear and inflate our egos. But it isn't is it. And no matter how much we explain it to them. No matter how much we dumb it down. They still don't get it.
We've told them time and time again. "This isn't about you. It's not about your ego. We don't give a shit what you want. We don't want what you have. We don't really care whether you live or die. We just want what is ours. What's right and just. The good of the masses. Justice. Peace."
They look at us with glazed eyes and slack jaws. Drooling, monosyllabic grunts and flailing their stupid arms and puffing out their silly chests. Beating them like it would scare us off. Pffft.
They think they're organised. They think they have an army behind them. They think they're pretty clever and they think they are strong. I've laughed about this so hard, I lost my breath. Gulped for air, tears streaming down my face. Trying to compose myself long enough to empathise, but it devours me again. Waves and waves of hysterics. Laughter so deep, so uncontrollable that I can barely believe the concept of what they're proposing even exists. Please. Please.....don't get me started again. Let me finish this!!!
So. What to do. What to do about it once and for all.
Tear them limb from limb. Pluck out their fucking ugly eyes and uglier hearts and kick them til they're broken. Pulverised into a smear of hair and bone and jelly. Throw them all into a heap and torch the fuckers. And film it and play it on a loop for the others to see. THAT'S WHAT THEY DO TO US!!!
No. There's a much better way. The laughing helps. It helps so much. And they fucking hate that. The pointing and the laughing. It feels so good. It boggles their little minds. They hate it more than the blood letting. They don't want to be ridiculed. They don't realise they're ridiculous. It's beyond them.
Point and laugh. Ok, that's number one.
Breathe. Breathe the air they think is theirs. Take up all the space. Take it. TAKE IT. It's yours. Yours before it was ever theirs and yours after they steal any of it. They can't ever take it all. They're trying, poor dears. Trying so hard to take the air and space. Here it comes again. That wave of mirth. It's bigger than me, the joy. It fuels me.
Right. Point, laugh, breathe, take up space.
Words and noise. We need words and noise. They hate that too. Always telling us to shut up. Telling us what words and noise we can make if any. Nope. Mine. My words and noise are mine. If I want to wail like a fucking banshee, I will. If I want to sing like a lunatic, watch me. If I want to rage like a machine, try and stop me. Just try. Better yet, try and stop us.
We're pretty loud when we're on the same page. We don't have to meet to make a crowd. We're here. And we're not going anywhere. And when we think the same things, all at the same time. That electricity. That momentum. That force is more powerful than their tiny little brains can even fathom. Sometimes, we can just raise our eyes to meet theirs head on, raise an eyebrow and watch them explode. You know what I'm talking about don't you. Enough said.
So let's do it. Before this shit gets out of hand. But as if we can go that far backwards. Not now. There are too many of us.
Point at their stupid heads.
Laugh your heart out at their arrogance.
Breathe in as much air, take up as much space - starve them of existence.
Say whatever you want, tell them. Loudly. Shout at them and scream your intolerance. Your resistance. Pound your fists, kick the doors, turn over the tables.
We have to keep teaching them these lessons. Til they submit and learn. Or disappear forever. It's that simple a choice really, isn't it.
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