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There Ain't No Justice #28
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #28 |
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- Life is Pain -
by Tal Meta
A small child, perhaps five, maybe six, plays in the sand on the beach. Her
father, watching her, smiles, "So much like myself," he thinks, "I can only
hope she doesn't grow up to be TOO much like me."
The man was odd. This has been said of many others, but not for the same
reasons. Born to oddness, he did not think himself so, and wondered why
others did. They didn't understand him. Not at all. But he understood
himself, and everyone around him too. That was why he was dangerous.
The boy who would become the man was fey. Dreamer, poet, madman, mystic.
All of these things, yet none at all. idealist, his ideas were unpleasnat.
Above all else, he was different. So he had to know himself. But first, and
harder yet, he learned everyone else. But the idealism was a problem. So
belief was the first part of him that died and was reborn. One evening, he
was known to have written these words, even though the reasons were
unclear. But then, they always were.
I hear the cry of Friendship, and I rejoice! To have a friend is a good
thing. But as I sit here alone, wondering as I do, just what could
friendship possibly mean to you?
My ideas are clear, so yours must be at fault, why else would we be at this
point? I have freinds who are more than friends, and some who are less. And
those that are less, them I leave by the wayside. And too, I have enemies,
some who were once friends. But they are all assembled from those on the
waysides. Still though, I seek someone to be my friend.
Still though, i seek for someone to be my Friend, who shares my views on
friendship, the way its meant to be. Today, as yesterday, and rushing
towards tomorrow, I stand accused, The Fool.
At times I wonder how I yet still live, burned by fires from within and
without. the silver flames of treachery, and the personal black of rage. So
I've claimed them as mu colors, the tartan of my clan. (As if, bastard that
I am, I had that right.)
And yea, though I walk through the valley in the shadow of death, I fear no
evil. I have faith. Twisted by my childhood, warped in puberty, madness now
has claimed me, but it shall not be. For yet I live, and while I live I can
hope, and dream. Friends come and go, but enemies accumulate, there by the
wayside. I have but two wishes in this world today; That I might choose my
enemies as carefully as I choose my friends, and that my friends should
understand me as well as I do them.
-------
I wrote these words a lifetime ago, to someone long since passed from my
life. I kept them, as I keep many useless things, as a notice to my future
self that there was once pain, and that there would be pain again. Life is
pain. But you have to keep moving. Despite what some people's gods will
tell you, death is a piss poor answer to any question. Unless its someone
else's death, of course. You learn to deal with pain... there are as many
answers as there are people to ask. I discovered meditation. I learned to
learn from pain. I did stupid things, and learned thereby. I kept moving.
Thats what its all about, really. Keep moving. Keep thinking. Your thoughts
are all you really own anyway. Thats why there's no copyright notice on
these things. If someone really wants to steal them, they will. Someone
might have already. Its their loss. I still have my thoughts, and all they
have is a copy. We have no rights. I used to think people were following
me. I thought they knew what I was thinking, and were following me to stop
me. Maybe they were. Maybe I just stopped noticing them behind me. But they
haven't stopped me yet. At least, not yet today. Why were they following
me? I don't even remember. Probably had something to do with Lyra dying the
way she did. She cursed me that night, and it wasn't even my fault. She
cursed me with the knowlege that what I had just begun to learn would grow,
and change, and that someday, I, too, would prefer death to living. Maybe.
But not yet.
Its after 8 P.M.... I'm safe from invasion once again. The last search
warrant said they could only come between 8 A.M and 8 P.M. They could come
anytime they want, but that illusion of safety comforts me greatly. If I
cling to it, thats my business. I'm not even doing anything to make them
come, and I still wonder if they will. I probably always will. My privacy
was shattered once: now I guard whats left tooth and nail.
I used to wonder if I was really human. I even resigned from the human race
once. Nobody took it seriously. Not that I cared. It was a gesture, and I
was big on gestures when i was 14. I used to think... a million different
things. Being an adopted child leaves alot of room for your imagination to
play. Who were they, those gametes that met one November night? Did they
care for each other? Did they care for me, even a little? Who knows. Maybe
someday I will try to find out. Maybe not. Maybe one of them will try and
find me. I expect they'll be disappointed. I'm more interested in their
medical histroy than I am in them as people, anyway.
I had my name legally changed, oh, can it be 5 years ago already? The
people who adopted me, they told me I was adopted. That helped. I'd hate to
go through life thinking I was related to them. I sometimes wonder if I
changed my name to please myself, of to put another knife in my "father's"
back. He was always so proud of the "family name". I despised it. I
despised him, too, for lots of things. For never being there. For divorcing
my "mother" to go breed with someone who could bear him children who
carried his genes. I've almost got my "brother" talked into changing his
name too, just to cheese the fucker off. He finally married for money. He's
much happier now. He'll be happier when she dies and he inherits. But
nobody will mourn when he dies.
There's a war brewing. Somewhere. There's another war going in full swing
somewhere else. People want to stop war. I have come to grips with war. War
is good. We've reached the top of the food chain; we have no competition.
So we have war. War is supposed to weed out the weak. Not that it does
anymore. Too high tech. We should go back to swords. It all comes down to
breeding. War spreads the genes around. Its better at it than TV, Air
Travel, and Sperm Banks combined. We went to southeast asia before I was
born. I was seven when we left. We left a million? More? crossbreeds in our
wake. Thats what war is really all about you know. The chance to inflict
your gene plasm on the enemy. The rape of the Subine, and all that.
I read once that mankind was Earth's sperm. We are our planet's way of
reproducing. When we go to another world, we're going to cart our plants,
and our animals, and our germs along for the ride. Like bees spreading
pollen. I like that illusion. I have no problem being sperm. I just wish
we'd quit playing with ourselves and spurt on something already. Who knows,
we might find something thats at the same point on the food chain as we
are. We could kill that, then, instead of each other. Or something higher
up could find us... but thats life.
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