Birth of a monster

Being alone makes you special or a freak. In both cases you might wanna consider being happy without relying on an extra pair of legs, eyes or brain hemispheres. Doing it on your own will, unfortunately, hurt like hell. But you deserve pain since either you are a freak, or you’re special. Second bad part, actually quite sucking, is that being a freak, or special, needs the comparison with some other people, done by some other people. None of which will be trustworthy. If you’re a freak there will be close to noone near you, and if you’re special you won’t actually give a crap about whatever they’re saying, because you’ll very probably be a self-centered ass. Which you will find totally cool, especially becoz every once in a while, or more, there will be a lot of people buying your self-centered crap, for the sole reason that they are too freaking normal, and you’re amongst the happy few who arent. Ok, amongst the few who aren’t. Leave the happy part to the normal I’m-just-a-drop-in-the-ocean boring and dreamless idiots out there.

So, without comparison your thinking you’re special will actually be based on its actual base. Yourself. Your alone self. Contantly checking your sleeve for more tricks. Coz some people might find you insanly funny, others will hate you but always give you the benefit of the doubt, and… no, the rest don’t matter. For being funny and popular is the easiest way to going through your life not ever trying to actually feel something. Not that you’re capable of feeling something. If you were, maybe it would have already happened. Oh, yes, I forgot, except being alone, and, therefore special, you are also a pathetic being who loves complaining about being alone, even though it should have become clear by now that IT IS YOUR OWN FAULT. Luckily you don’t explore that line of thinking too often, so your spirit and appreciative opinion about yourself stays intact, victorious over accidental shakes, of, lets’ say… shame. Which obviously you don’t’ have, for the simple fact that it’s totally useless, boring, and other bad stuff.

Alone, special and unbored. Unbored by yourself, everything else bores you to death, minus the occasional times you can prove that you’re special. What would you have done if there weren’t no work. You are brilliant, or you think you are, which makes you better at your job then most people. The reality doesn’t really matter, as long as you are in their brains, comanding the minions what to think and believe about you. Somewhat of a monster? Lets leave it at freak. Not that monster would be that bad. No feelings, no shame, no boredom equals a sick sort of happy, but it is, in the end, happy. In lack of pain, or rejoicing of it, and not giving a crap about anything, some of the time not even about yourself you’re bound to be a happy little monster, tormentor of the people stupid enough to come too close. You do not have anything to lose anymore, so life will go by a lot easier.

Alone, monstrous, yet happy, or at least content. Good recipe for not doing anything different for the rest of your life. In a way this might be a lot better then you think, coz it adds up to you actually finding out who the hell you are.

Welcome!