Humanity, I hate you. I hate your disgusting disregard for
the bountiful endowments evolution has empowered you with. You've proven to be a wasteful,
disrespectful, ungrateful, abhorrent species, not worthy of anything this
universe has given you. Not worthy of the anonymity, not worthy of the
uniqueness, not worthy of the fucking round rock you stomp around on with your
arrogance and exploitation and erroneous destruction. You pride yourselves in
discovering the minutiae yet can’t even discover the grandiose semblance of
connectivity amongst yourselves. You can weave intricacies between galaxies and
molecules, you can create mathematics and physics to supplement your
insignificance, no different from the religious zealot, yet you cannot even
discard your indifference to the suffering both caused and felt by YOU, always
you. You create truth, in lieu of listening to the truths that have already
been created, and this conceit is destructive. Most destructive to those who
can see the destruction happening and yet can do nothing to thwart it.
I am speaking from a place that is now subhuman, because of
you. I've blamed myself for too long and it’s a god damn cosmic joke I've been naïve
to; perhaps willingly, but no more.
Because? Because you've worn me down. You've drained me, then
trained me to know nothing but disdain. Any creature that is filled with contempt for its own kind cannot be considered itself any longer. Any person
that is no longer living, only surviving, has become nothing more than a
dangerous beast. And I am only human enough these days to acknowledge this fact.
It helps nothing. To call myself an animal would be a compliment. A beast abreast is nothing more than a menace. My chosen
environment augments my instability; my danger is amplified in this city. I
feel a discord that is terrifying, I’m sure, if only I could feel anything except
rancor.
Yes, I hate YOU. I hate you, slow walkers. I hate you,
pretty face. I hate you, vagabond. And I fucking hate the rest of you, you who
pass out flyers and you who ask for signatures and you who dig in the trash and
you half-smilers and you businessmen and you who cough outrageously and you who let your gaze linger too long
on my hate-filled face. I hate every creed and gender and race and age with
such an unwavering equality that no one is spared from my revulsion, not even
you, so please don’t allow yourself to feel fucking special or singular.
Fuck you for being white, fuck you for being
black, fuck you for being male or female, fuck you for being so easily stereotypical.
Living a life you don’t even like – why do you do it? Because you’re selfish,
and insatiable. Hope is a farce and even staring that truth in the face, you
still cling to this life. Because you’re selfish. And insatiable.
I want to spit in each of your faces. I want to slap each smug
face with such force that your pompous energy is launched into the atmosphere,
allowing me to bathe in its antagonism. I want to hold my space on the sidewalk
and run you off it, to let the door slam in your face for once instead of
allowing you through it first, because I’m too tired to hold my own head up let
alone hold a foreign door open for a stranger. This doorway is MY entrance and YOUR
exit; this sidewalk is MY space to occupy and own and rule with tyranny. I will
cling to this selfishness from now on because you've shown me it’s the only way
to live. And I fucking hate you for robbing me of my kindness.
I hate you, street vendor, you with your culturally appropriate
clothes and hair and job and aura – your desperate grasp on uniqueness is palpable
and ordinary and confines you to a crowd so much further from counterculture
than when you began that I can feel nothing but thorough enjoyment over your
blatant failure. I hate your black punk rock themed BBQ stand and your meticulously
gelled mohawk aimed to match it. Fuck your customers buying into your cheap
trickery to sell a piece of dead meat in a perceivably cool fashion. I loathe
your stupid subscription to a lifestyle that is so benign and contrived I could
vomit. Fuck your stupid rolled jeans, like you rolled out of a magazine. Your
fucking tatted arms and tatted food truck, aren't you just fucking divine?
I want to knock down your spatially unaware children. Don’t you
teach them that other people exist? Of course not, you only teach them to be
ignorant and selfish because we really only learn from example, and you are the
prime example of ignorant, egocentric behavior. I’d love nothing more than to tell them to
quit fucking smiling, that it won’t last, and that it makes the rest of us subliminally
feel like shit because all we can muster is furrowed brows and thin lipped
frowns. We know better. And you can shove your innocence-protecting up your
fucking ass, because you are ruining their innocence every fucking day, every
fucking interaction, and I will not absorb the guilt you refuse to feel when you
choose ignorance. Will you never understand that the awfully inescapable human
condition is contagious?
I want to smash the 16th Street pianos because
you do not play for the beauty of music, you play for the attention it brings
you. You care nothing of the meaning contained within those notes, only that
you hit the right ones to catch the admiring eye of a passerby. You experience no
gratitude towards the very existence of an unexplainable phenomenon that has brought
nations to their knowing and cultures to their cultivation. I'd chop your fucking fingers off if it meant sparing the rest of us your choppy version of a
masterpiece, simply because you do not give a single fucking care towards its
brilliance. And I hate whoever placed those pianos there. I hate them for
giving you the opportunity to embarrass the creators of the most sacred souvenir
given to one of our few fallible senses. I hate that you have the opportunity
to embarrass what is arguably the only thing humanity has done right. Created
by us and ruined by us, it’s a treacherous pattern to which we've enslaved ourselves.
Oh how I want to smash in the faces of you pitiful
handicapped fucks. You, you fucking scourge, you fucking useless, insatiable
blood suckers, bound to wheelchairs that fucking mock me, mock me to no end.
Your pathetic existence just begs for my mercy and pity and I have none of that
to give. I care not to explain how your own kind has bled me dry of it. And
since you have nothing to give either, you only take and take and take and take,
I feel a contempt towards you that may be the most fiery form of hatred. I hate
you because your self-obsessed, subconscious destitution is manifested in your
lameness and swaddled in metal instead of hidden like the rest of humanity’s
disgusting, wretched, harrowing nature. You expose all of humanity with your
deplorable presence.
Fuck you for driving a car. Fuck you for giving your kids
the same haircut. Fuck you for cowering under an umbrella in a lightning storm.
Fuck you for delaying life in order to post every fucking moment to Instagram
or Facebook. Just FUCK YOU in every capacity possible.
God DAMN I hate you all. I hate your belonging and I hate your need
to belong and I hate your clinging and the fact that your answer to those poignant demands
is public comradery, knowing damn well that beneath your shiny, shallow surface
you are just a self-serving piece of shit that is unworthy of any happiness,
faux or otherwise.
This anger has been learned. This anger has been learned, and so I feel no remorse in
hating you, humanity. Your glimmers of good no longer have any fucking place in
my ever-forming opinion – you could have never created evil, but you did, and
that is most evil of all. Then to propagate it…No, I cannot forgive you.
If I've incited hatred in you, then I've paid it forward, as
was done to me. It’s now important to know, to admit, that the most passionate
hatred I experience is towards my own self. I hate myself for allowing myself
to feel this way, for allowing you to disempower me, for allowing you to disarm
me from my loving defenses, to allow myself the pomposity to identify myself as
a “self” from my inception. I hate my longing for a connection to you, for
acceptance, I hate myself for needing you to define what is me. I look in the mirror and see a person filled
with nothing but disgust and I can in turn feel nothing but disgust towards my
person. Towards my former person, as I am now just a shell carrying the incurable
virus known as hatred; simply an empty vessel that now that only survives to
fuel a perpetual hatred towards its own self and the beings that resemble my
own former self. I fucking hate me, and it’s because I fucking hate you.
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