Brutus in The War

I want the writing to be pristine and yet it carries the grotesque embellishments of the rape that is ever present in the existence. It just can't be done away with because it is part of existence just as breathing is. I hate pimping my life but I sometimes derive from it as it is a never ending resource for inspiration which is essential for writing. I'm against cruelty but it is not the cruelty that disappoints me in the order of things, it is the incompetence. I wouldn't have been incompetent, but then I wouldn't have been cruel too. When you achieve the absolute in optimization of cruelty and incompetence it is here you reach, which is funny because incompetence and optimization don't go hand in hand but here they do. Genocides are protested against throughout the world and yet only a few, except those who are committing it know that they are still going on and at the most unassuming of locations. In a quaint town old families disappear one by one and no one bats their eyes. Families perish, they have been perishing since time immemorial but those who know, know. The next generation takes control and slowly slips into oblivion and then ceases to exist altogether. It's not about families and family names dying though. It's actually about the mix of cruelty and incompetence that goes hand in hand in a land which once boasted of culture. The culture now is the sliced lemon with green chillies on the road, throwing ones misfortune on to someone unassuming, especially the unassuming. I flip back the pages of memory and find myself in a new school with a green and black bag, eager to start anew. Starting anew was my style, I was that guy who loved to start with a clean state, to what effect, for what goal, it is still unclear but from the looks of it the goals were lofty, not too lofty but enough to justify my existence and none of it was something that I didn't deserve. Jesus died for sins of people and people are still busy committing sins and not even with guilt, they commit sins as if they are their rights. So one realises that there are scapegoats. I am a scapegoat, I suffer for the sins of my people, and one of the most unforgivable sins of my people is being good, when you are good you get corrupted in a different way than when you are not. The process is entirely different. Goodness fears in a way, evil doesn't. Fear is always present in goodness and once goodness is informed of the extent of evil that is present, it wants to die along with the one who contains it. I suffer for my people, and I suffer my naive assumptions that I made in the past that come back to haunt me. I suffer the filters that are put in the society to filter out people, and put them in their supposed places fuelled by the engine of incompetence and cruelty. My naive assumptions did me much wrong but then I realise that nothing has been a better teacher for me than them. The green and black bag that I carried to a new school, the lies that I told myself to cope with an extreme personal loss, the loss of actually being myself, the loss of containing me due to a pressure that I had solely imagined but ultimately turned out to be as real as night and day. But it is what made me. I tried to start with a clean slate twice after. I mean you can turn a new leaf, you can start over, you can reinvent yourself, right? Wrong. The truth is so cheap that you will puke for days. That's how cheap the truth is, and it is grotesque in the most pathetic manner. It's like killing the goat as personification of your own shortcomings or misfortune. You have low self-esteem, personify it as a goat, and sacrifice it and then cook it and distribute the meat in the community, unfortunately the lack of self-esteem doesn't get cured still so you must find a new goat to sacrifice and this cycle goes on infinitely, and what applies on goats applies on humans too, Inca did human sacrifices? You would be surprised. Memory presents itself in odd ways and to prevent oneself from becoming an unreliable narrator one has to really lean in on their hardened instincts and reason. Here is a secret, hell doesn't have culture, and if there is a culture no matter how high or low, it is not hell and neither is it heaven.