Truth by design

I was gazing down on him yet he didn't even realize who I was or why did I take so much interest in one hopeless self-loathing son of mine. A gift had been given unto him almost a couple decades before this act and still he wasn't aware. There were billions of them breaking whatever they thought I made while they fought against each other unknowing something as ethereal as me couldn't care less about those marching ants and their 9 to 5 desolate existence. Those hairless apes had tried to make me theirs a couple of times like I was another good within this thing they call market.

They say they chose life but actually debauchery was being chosen every single futile breathing occasion they forgot to wind the clock. Most of them chose lies even if they were not aware of it. Life's great questions will never be answered because frankly even my supposed greatness will never be able to solve a puzzle which has been burning to ashes since the world's been turning, or at least that's what I've seen. Men choose denial by design because they don't want to face the truth. If you gave me a second to think about it a little while longer I would probably say maybe it just never existed, because maybe there isn't an answer to every puzzle or perhaps puzzles are manmade roads paved by the bliss of ignorance. Maybe your significance is as important as that of a rat lurking through the subways searching for their next rotting meal ignoring the fact they might be dying any second now.

Searching throughout the vermin I had found one particular tiny being which astounded me, and that isn't something that happens every day. He reminded me of this man who once sang about a boy with a thorn in his side, this Smith guy. Either way, this being didn't ever lie to himself, he knew there wasn't a purpose or a path to follow, he just lived as his mind knew there was no destiny and he would burn to ashes one day. As he thought, life would end one day just as it started unless he could do something about it. He was condemned into the world, he didn't choose to be, he never wants to be. Found himself one day caring about life, love, lust and other drugs and that would be the price of living.

"Why are they dying to live if we're just living to die?," he asked himself a thousand moons ago. Dust hath no memory, it doesn't know had it been wood or flesh, charm or repulsion, natures' delight or just a gruesome abortion of mine. Had he searched for love, he knew it would just one day turn into filth. Had he found friends, they would have been a rotten carcass or maggots' next meal any day now. Had he partied all night long, those best memories would have been erased that conclusive moment his eyes rolled in, his obscuring heart stopped pumping blood through his cluttered veins and his brain sent its last signal wave through his nerves as it overdosed on the apathy of living stardust.

Life gave him one only true choice. He couldn't decide on whether to be born or not, and he knows his life will one day end, and that's the only truth. The only choice he could make in this road that had been paved long before his own existence is whether to go 'til the end with whatever fate had been written or ending it whenever he wanted to. He wanted to die before he got old so he decided as a youngling to start digging the hole he will one day be buried in. We all are part of our own river where a dam holds our flow which one day will overrun us and drop ourselves unto the unknown. This man has been taking a brick from it every day on purpose just so he could decide when to be flooded by life's stream and not succumb to it at any given time.

It's astounding how can someone be so smart and see the truth everyone dares to hide and yet not be able to vocalize and communicate all these elderly thoughts so others' can see the true reality as he does. He found life's secret, life's' obscure truth. The key does not lead to a treasure chest full of colorful radiating jewels but to an endless maze which points us through life, through the rise and the fall. Mostly through the fall. Life's façade had crumbled as he grew older and realized all these puzzling lies life inflicts on us so we can bear it. If most of us knew as he does we would choose not to breathe through this painstakingly reality most oblivious flea recognize as a my gift.

The truth is though I may sometimes call you my sons I never did create you. I mean, once I sent one son of mine to help you comprehend it all but you sent him home with wood and nails, you uncivilized bedbugs. I believe he has a solid fanbase down there, though they never really believed anything he tried to tell you. It's the old Marx and the marxists story. One man tries to help you identify what's wrong with you and which things you might change to make it all better but then after he dies (or you bastards kill him), you put words he never said inside his mouth and destroy the world under his holy name.

By the way, although his hands still hurt I will one day send him back to fist you down to reason. It will not happen in the near future, I bet it will be safer to mail him back there whenever you have wasted all your freedom-inducing lead 'cause I do not want little Jesus to spend his seventh childhood not being able to chat with his classmates 'cause you decided to blow his jaw with a freedom-grenade this time. He is only two millennium old, for my sake! He hasn't even started hitting the blunt.

Anyway, back to the evolved monkey. He was the kind of person who would follow his everyday routine over and again without changing it much. The guy went to class, talked to no one then walked back to his house and listened to pretty neat music all day. He liked to call it his "escape" but we both know it was as a matter of fact all he could do with his forlorn life all day, every day. What can a guy with no friends do? It's not like he cared much about having them. One day they would all be gone just like everyone else.

Okay, just for the sake of truth I have to say he had some friends and he did date some girls but he never found much interest in any of them. Though he wasn't keen on feelings there was one thing he couldn't resist and that would the feeling of loneliness, being an uncut diamond buried around the outlands.

He always conceived his self as different, special, unique, or in his own words: "a lackluster who unlike everyone else failed at every aspect of life in which socializing or being manly was necessary". That includes both everyday life and the little to none-existing social life he could get. Girls, girls were his weak spot though not as you would expect it. He always found them compelling but not in the expected overturning sex drive way, just compelling enough to prefer them over males.

Mundane matters were not relevant to the boy who had a mind bounded to the relativism of it all. "Nothing is true, everything is permitted" was the motto he lived by, just as those hooded men said a couple times when he enjoyed butchering fellow virtual mates within a 24 inch screen.

Why would anything matter if all had to end someday? Were points of view important if none of them were really true? Reason, morality, science, religion, weren't they all dogmas? They all had their roots in axioms which, if countered, would make all their theories fall. God and men were the same inside his ever-thinking mind. He was a god.

The guy didn't think I existed, didn't respect me. I know happiness is a false pretext for them to live their lie of a life, but this man made me want to hand that chance to him just for being different and seeing the universe and all life within as I do, a pointless and arid journey through an undiscovered land where there's nothing left to find. Either way I'm not able to do that, cant' decide to make anyone happy. I can't really interfere much , you are just a bad game of sims I'm not even able to play. I am kind of a voyeur but that's as far as I will take it. Guess a way to aid him might be found, if only the image of God was capable of handing anyone everlasting hope.