Muddasheep's Daydream Part 7

Stop for a minute and carefully, consciously look around, look at the cars that evolved out of simple carriages drawn by horses, look at the pavement under your feet, spanning around the country like callus, watching all the people sitting inside their cars, mostly just following their everyday life, take the routes they are used to. There are hundreds driving the streets, flowing like blood in your veins, their destinations are mostly working places which they need to attend to earn colored metal and paper pieces which they can trade for food, water, and gas to drive more, to work more, to eat more, to drink more. To reproduce. Would you want to bring a child into this world? Would you decline were you offered to be born? Could you cope with it should you have a child that kills itself, or suffers hunger and pain in the third world war? Is it right to believe there will be a third world war, or will this kind of thinking just spawn it?

Some people need to look away from their mirrors and look up at the stars and realize we're the current generation, given the opportunities of certain level of technology, and not look at others in disgust, but with the feeling that we are sharing approximately fifty years with each other, we are living on this planet and we can change the course of this ship for the next passengers in the next century. Can we? Nature is defending itself, and yet we continue to force results of laziness and comfortable style of living upon it, treating it like a toy. And yet there are people who do not have the possibility of staying another ten minutes in the shower because the water feels nice on the skin. They can't waste any drop because every drop drying on the ground means one less fragment of hope. I feel ashamed writing about it, I feel ashamed reading about it in the news, where it tells of water shortages next to Britney Spear's drug addiction problems.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm already dead. In 53 years I will die of a heart attack, and before I die I will live my life again, second by second, dying again, repeating my life in my head, being stuck in a loop. Sometimes my heart reminds me of its fragility, either by beating too fast or too slow for short amounts of time. This body I direct through this life is a weak machine. You surely know the saying that if you're standing in front of a lot of people and you're nervous you have to picture the audience naked. I know a better trick. Simply imagine that the humans before you are being controlled by their souls, relying on society habits to better understand their lives. They aren't really looking at you. Eyes are just instruments for receiving light and telling brains to make something out of it. Why they look like they do is a mystery, but the longer you look at them the more deformed they appear. The mouth, a disgusting instrument to absorb food, the nose in the middle of the head, full of dirt and snot, skin that is full of little unevennesses, pimples and tiny hairs. Seen an attractive woman or man? Watch how they eat. Watch how they swallow, how they talk while eating, spitting. Imagine them puking, imagine them being forty years older, imagine them being rotten in their coffins. The closer you look the clearer it becomes.