Smoke, smoke, smoke till your lungs turn black and the tiny cloud of carbon and sulphur and everything in between, coming out of your mouth, twists and turns and makes beautiful patterns in the air, like filigree on an old, faded tattoo.
They only tell you not to smoke, that it's bad for you, while you're theirs. It doesn't really matter if it's bad for you. It only matters that you belong to this person, and they want to feel needed and important. They want this false sense of responsibility. So they play parent. Don't smoke, it's bad for you.
In fact, you don't matter. It only matters what you are to them. This world we live in, where we only care for things we possess. Materialism isn't limited to things we conventionally think of when we hear the word. It's all around us. It's what we build our lives on.
A world where we own people. Friends are ours. Lovers are ours. The minute they don't belong to us anymore, they could cease to exist, and we won't care.
So how much did we really care for them anyway? Or did we just care for the idea of them? For the idea of this person that is ours to care for and make memories with. Or maybe we just cared for ourselves? Friends and lovers being an extension of who we were.
And once they stop being ours, they could go jump off a cliff, for all we cared.
It all starts with the concept of I.
The idea that we are a separate entity. That we can possess ourselves and possess other people.
Except that no one knows what I really is anyway. Just a consolidated, limited concept that we build around ourselves, because thinking of ourselves as an extension of everything and everyone around us, is way too vague a concept.
Where did you come from anyway?
They only tell you not to smoke, that it's bad for you, while you're theirs. It doesn't really matter if it's bad for you. It only matters that you belong to this person, and they want to feel needed and important. They want this false sense of responsibility. So they play parent. Don't smoke, it's bad for you.
In fact, you don't matter. It only matters what you are to them. This world we live in, where we only care for things we possess. Materialism isn't limited to things we conventionally think of when we hear the word. It's all around us. It's what we build our lives on.
A world where we own people. Friends are ours. Lovers are ours. The minute they don't belong to us anymore, they could cease to exist, and we won't care.
So how much did we really care for them anyway? Or did we just care for the idea of them? For the idea of this person that is ours to care for and make memories with. Or maybe we just cared for ourselves? Friends and lovers being an extension of who we were.
And once they stop being ours, they could go jump off a cliff, for all we cared.
It all starts with the concept of I.
The idea that we are a separate entity. That we can possess ourselves and possess other people.
Except that no one knows what I really is anyway. Just a consolidated, limited concept that we build around ourselves, because thinking of ourselves as an extension of everything and everyone around us, is way too vague a concept.
Where did you come from anyway?
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