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1. the Misanthrope | the Paradox

I hate people. Very much indeed so.
I hate people and I find no reason to hate myself for doing so, as I constantly find numerous excuses for my hatred.

Hatred, hate and loathing for people.

People. An entire web of reasons to hate the creator God for his or her incompetence in creating life.

People. Humans. What is so human about people?

I hate people, for they are not noble. I hate humans, for they are not honourable.

What is it that makes humans special? Apart from the ability to judge one another and never one thyself…

Humans are not special at all. There is nothing special about this species.
There have been some luminous exceptions. Indeed so. In a history that spans at least over the last 4.000 years, there have been some individuals that made this species worth creating. How many though? 100? 200? Does that number even begin to excuse the mistakes of all others?

Humans. God’s favourite creation. The perfect creation. Reserved for the last day of creation.
Not exactly the last but the results are the same.
If there was wisdom in creation, God would have rested the day on which he created man. Perhaps then, and only then, the rest of the creation would enjoy true freedom.
For humans exist only to suppress desires, fears, impetuses, urges and impulses.
Is it not true that humans exist only to fill this world with restraining freedoms?

Restraining freedom. For we are free to do, all that we are allowed to do. What a paradox…

Every man’s life is a paradox anyway.
How can you consider something as living when you know it is bound to die?
And if life is just that, the period of time before death, would you consider alive someone crippled on a hospital bed, respiring his last gasps, just before cancer made its last stand? Is he alive him that will die in the following five or so minutes? And if indeed he is alive, is he as alive as I am? Or are there different levels of life?

If there are however, are some more precious than others? Why do we keep believing human life is so much more precious than animal or even plant life? Is it because we have grown to know that human life will be missed by others? To my understanding, a feline will miss its young ones as well.

How can life be measured? A question that has plagued and disturbed many in the course of history. Surely, I am not the one to give an answer to that. Perhaps I can just remind to my fellow humans that life cannot be measured. Not by people.

I met this hired gun once. He had a strange point of view on life. When I asked him whether he loses his sleep at night -cause of the line of work that he chose to follow- he answered in dead cold tranquillity that he regarded himself as a butcher. He said humans are not at all different from the snails you step upon when walking in the mud, in a rainy, dark evening. Not different from the pigs, chickens, etc. That you slaughter to feed your family. A butcher, he said, does not turn vegetarian only because of the animals he chops and slices for a living.

Interesting point of view. At least he had managed to bring all living organisms on the same level of respect, as far as life levels are concerned.

Humans. Half of which exist to build theories, philosophies, virtues, ideas and laws for which the other half will build anti-theories, anti-philosophies, anti-virtues and anti-laws.
Humans. All of who don’t give a damn about one another.
Building ideas in their confined, refined little glass world. A world they live alone among all others. And they indeed build ideas for all the others.
Those others outside that little glass world, each one self-restricted, self-complete in their own little glass world. Those others that will read the previously mentioned ideas and will simply build their own ideas to fight the ones others have built. Simply because they have to.

Humans. A total waste of mud. Is that not what we were made of? God breathed life into the mud and there stood Adam. And from that mud, cutting a piece off gave life to Eve. Nicely put.
Even before his creation man had started wasting natural resources over nothing.


And I try so hard to find some reason to love -wait, that‘s a strong one- to like my fellow humans.

Those humans that created the perfect environment for our safe stay here on planet E.
Drinkable water, fire, electricity, housing.
Those same humans that went one step beyond.
Tasty food, crystal clear germ-free water, immunisation to illnesses, drainage, sewerage…
Those very same humans that created the perfectly safe environment to live in.
Fission of the atom and the atom bomb. Laser guided missiles. Heat seeking missiles. Long range weaponry. Biological weapons. Info wars.
Hiroshima. Nagasaki. Vietnam. The Gulf. Iraq. Iran. Palestine. Yugoslavia. Bosnia.

My fellow humans.
September 11, 01.

My fellow humans who decided it‘d be nice to bring the twin towers down.
Another one bites the dust.
I will not question the motives. Perhaps the anger had been building up for years and years. Indeed may be so.
What about the fellow humans inside the buildings?

When words fall on barren grounds, unheard, like angels betrayed, actions must speak.

Does that include acts of lunacy?
I -more than anyone- am in favour of the neglected. In favour of the rejected.
I -more than anyone- am ready to understand there have been reasons behind the attack
I -more than anyone- am ready to understand how one can reach to a point where the anger has built up so great that even the thought of bringing the towers down may be excused.

The thought!
Not the action.

What is there so human in taking the lives of so many?
How can you consider human someone who by means of infinite stupidity and just that, decides and carries out such an act?

How can you consider human those who speak of inhumanity when talking about the attacker and yet, they manage to find excuses for the retaliation attacks?

Humans are nothing more but the power of the paradox.
For whatever it is they once have judged and criticised, that is exactly what they will do in the future. And whatever it is they will do in the future, a time will come when they will judge and criticise what it is that they will have done.

And never learn. Humans will never learn. For humans will never learn how to be human.

I sincerely hate humans. And honestly do believe this would be a beautiful world if it were not for humans.

Imagine the beauty.
What is there more beautiful than the dolphins in the sea?
What is there more beautiful than the penguins on the pole?
What is there more beautiful than the squirrels on the trees?

Certainly not humans driving around in endless miles of asphalt, cursing around and filling the atmosphere with all the shit they are filling it with.

They? I just sounded as if I am not part of this race. Unfortunately I am. I am one of those who pollute the air, curse around and drive in endless circles, on miles and miles of black streets.

Black asphalt. Black hearts. Black souls.

I wonder. Will there ever truly be a second coming?
I know I will not be worthy of entering the paradise. But my heart is so happy knowing that perhaps a very tiny little bit of a percentage of people will enter the grace and the glory.
Perhaps that is what life is after all?
Our chance to prove we are worthy of entering the garden of eternal beauty.

I know I am not. I have renounced God anyhow.
For he never had the ability to create what he decided to create.
And I hate people. For people have the essence of God. The ability to be Gods by the side of the one God at some point.

So selfish.
One God. Always true. Always right.

Always true?
Not quite. A God true to the belief of love is not what man has grown to be.

Love. The one reason, the one excuse for all wrongdoing.
People following their hearts. Ending up alone.
God was alone too. All this here now is because he was so damn bored of being alone.

The theatre of tragedy. Us.
An endless play with no ticket.
I hate people. I hate humans. And as a human invention I hate this God of miserable failure.
Love. The reason of failures.

The same humans that crashed on my mother’s car and never turned their heads to see whether she was OK.
Human spirit? Love?

In the theatre of tragedy, indifferently sinking, we are all dying in apathy.

Humans. Those same humans that bombed the Chinese embassy.
Humans. Those same humans that never said a thing for their bombed embassy in return of great sums of money.

The love for money.

Those same humans that bombed the hospitals in Yugoslavia. Those same humans that crashed the airplanes into the twin towers. Those same humans that bombed every living organism down in Afghanistan and then threw radio players as a token of humanity.
Humanitarian help.

I hate people. I just somehow feel I don’t belong.
How can Christianity lecture for love when the crusades meant so blood?
How can the powerful lecture for world freedom when they mean extermination of the less powerful?

Humans. The true identity of a paradox.
I just somehow feel I do not belong.
I do not belong.
Not to the human community. Not to this sick idea of life.

Indeed, I hate life.
I hate life for it’s nothing more than a one way ticket to death.

I hate life.
But I still am alive. A paradox.

I hate people.
And still I am a member of the human community.
A paradox.

I hate myself for I cannot feel happy with who or what I am.
And still I cannot do anything to change me, or change the world.
I will go on being who I am, hating what I am.
A Paradox.

Every man is a paradox.

I am but a Paradox.


  2002  /  Misanthropia  /  Last Updated January 3, 2013 by Phlegyas  / 

1 Comment

  1. […] First of all, let me say that I have already shared my point of view on the original and retaliation attacks in my first part of Life in Misanthropia: [1.the.Misanthrope:the.Paradox] […]

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