lets go and sit down together and talk about other people, thought the trio of women as they separated themselves from the rest of the party. And before their self-esteem might die any further, the names of those being slain by their pointed backstabs could be heard sporadically piercing the murmur of the rest of the party. “Rah rah rah … Jane rah … Anne … so fucking young .. rah rah” – why do people have to do this? he thought to himself – i mean, you cant help talking about other people sometimes (we all share our experiences) but why with such malice? Like we have the right to pass the kind of judgement we so often miss, lurking behind us. I suppose women most need that self-assurance? – Who’s to blame though really? Maybe their lovers/partners/husbands/fuckers/girlfriends should be telling them how sexy they are. That they think they’re beautiful. Raping them occassionally. Loving them some more?
We all fall in to indignation, as weak as human nature. Selfish and picking ourselves up when we’re down (however we can – down or not – just take the fucking opportunity!). But so often do we life ourselves at another’s expense. Moreso, those who we dare not ridicule or speak badly of in their actual presence. – When they’re around, we sing their praises like lying birds. Once they’re gone, appear the metaphorical lives. Knives. Lies. Why?
Weak humans. Cunts. Shallow. In shallow graves. Disconnected from normal human consciousness. Merely for their own gain. Conscienceless. Greedy, selfish, wallowing pitiful cunts.
Lingering in each other’s waste, taking over the world.