Random Concern

What revolting repugnance arises inside me when the majority of people assume that bravery entails killing devoid of emotion.

Numerous muderders, mass shooters, gangsters and dictators are revered worldwide.

It vexes my heart to witness churches treating remorseless murderers like deities.

How nauseating it is to see so many people defending a despicable piece of trash.

I confess to finding appeal in such filth, but only in fiction. I, too, have succumbed to it. In fiction, there is no wrongdoing. Yet, I feel I come from a world, that I know will never become true.

I yearn for those dull, ghostly places, of sporadic encounters and distant sounds.

Strong friendships, familiar embraces, gatherings until dusk, and laughters.

But that’s too boring for them.

Once, I was there, unaware of the loathsome souls of these people. In the end, it was just childish stupidity.

I am nothing more than a disgusted and resentful being.

How loathsome they all are. How repulsed I am by their stupidity.

Am I be a coward? I think about Borges, who considered himself one, and how so many flee from cowardice with peculiar irony. Fearful to death, they endeavor not to appear so and will endorse anything that conceals their fear.

But to feel nothing, to feel nothing…

What would I be if I felt nothing when opening someone’s chest with a knife?

Why is that considered bravery?

My incredulity rests in not believing in free will.

The ability to coldly, like a surgeon, dissect a body, to shun screams and danger, is merely a personal characteristic.

I do not believe in choices; who can blame those overwhelmed by their emotions? (They can be annoying tho).

I have always felt as if I stand at a midpoint. My mother is an irredeemable coward, while my father is the courageous one.

I, too, committed the mistake of praising bravery. However, in matters where I am brave, it is not because I chose to be; it simply does not stir any emotion within me.

In those instances where I am cowardly, does it even matter that I cannot control myself?

A play of emotions, between feeling nothing and feeling it, attempting to train the body for one or the other.

And what does it matter in the end?

If I could kill 100.000 people and feel nothing, they would praise me as a hero, and that makes me wanna puke.

What does it matter in the end?

The celebration of deaths and suffering will persist.

Barbarism will never end, and that is why I now feel overwhelmed.

(This post is a joke just kill whoever you want)