Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me?
"It is a self-deception of philosophers and moralists to imagine that they escape decadence by opposing it. That is beyond their will; and, however little they acknowledge it, one later discovers that they were among the most powerful promoters of decadence."
- Friedrich Nietzche.
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It was like any other day, when the kitten woke up to confusion.
A raging mind in a moment of blurred alertness,
the first reaction was to scratch the wall right beside.
The claw marks were left there, permanently,
serving a reminder of the frenzy within the mind.
Perhaps it was a dream, night terrors,
or mere emptiness within the sleep.
Enstranged with the multiple possibilities, the kitten just cannot let it go.
How can one not have an answer to what they seek to know?
If it were a dream, it would have been a strange one that didn't make sense.
Nothing has to make sense.
If it were a night terror, it would have been a horrific one that wouldn't leave the mind.
Nightmares always sticks close.
If it were to be nothing, it would have been a peaceful sleep of blankness.
Nothingness - that almost-impossible attainment.
Now what, what exactly does the kitten do?
The kitten is scratching its head with its tiny paw.
Why are my paws so tiny? The kitten sighs.
Oh no, why is that even important.
Taking paper after paper, scribbling and drawing,
trying to get the entire story line out.
The kitten is trying to get the timeline out.
Now, once again, there seems to be some importance in that.
If it were to be a dream, the kitten would just feel satisfied;
Where the satisfaction is derived from a simple logic -
the kitten would feel happy for a few hours
just by knowing it was the most pleasant of the dream.
If it were to be night terrors, the kitten would feel frustrated;
Where the rumination of the concept of sleep becomes horrifying -
the kitten would feel frightened for days, weeks, and months
just by emphasising the negativity of that.
If it were to just be sleep, the kitten would feel empty;
Where there would be nothing to think about and yet,
the kitten would be curious as to what really happened
and end up in cycles trying to figure out nothing.
Happiness, fear, curiousity,
and all the thoughts accompanying it.
The process of going through the entire timeline of sleep -
wanting to know each and evey single detail,
it was a torture.
A pleasurable one, in fact.
The kitten kept finding something new to figure out each day,
almost forgetting it's basic functioning skills as a cat.
The kitten kept trying to stay alive to live in pain ,
almost forgetting that it was just a kitten.
What life and death meant to that kitten was almost non-existent.
What hurt the most at the end of the day,
was the amount of hurt that the kitten was self-inflicting.
Making a beautiful mess out of a destructive paradise,
the kitten stopped at nothing to feel pain.
The torture each day,
became its reason to live.
The pain of living through each day,
became the purpose of life.
Or perhaps,
the kitten got it all wrong.
The sole purpose of life -
was to prolong the pain.
Prolonging the suffering from each torturous day,
kept the kitten alive - for death was too easy.
Those who saw what was happening jumped to conclusions,
wondering if the kitten even knew how to appreciate life.
Those who saw how the kitten was continuing to live in pain prayed daily -
for the kitten to wake up from the delusion of its sado-masochistic thoughts.
What nobody saw was how the kitten realised its motivation,
the motivation in life to live on, and breathe each day;
the motivation to self-destruct;
the motivaiton to feel pain.
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Because feeling pain is a feeling.
Acknowledging that there is pain
only means there is the feeling of pain.
The feeling of pain and the smiles accompanying it,
only makes feeling even better.
The smiles, the pain, the acknowledgement of feelings,
it made the kitten's whole world.
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Poor little kitty,
in a world full of pain.
In a world full of uncertainties,
nobody understood why pain was so addictive.
Poor little kitty,
in a world full of pain.
In a world full of mad hunger,
nobody understood why pain took away the emptiness.
Poor little kitty,
in a world full of pain.
In a world full of new borns, misfortunes, and death,
nobody understood why pain needed to be perpetuated.
Poor little kittly,
in a world full of pain.
In a world full of people who try too hard to feel,
nobody understood the simplicity of pain as a dormant feeling.
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Pain - that unexplainable feeling of goodness;
that awfully pleasant feeling of asphyxiation in cycles,
that unrealistic contentment in destructive thoughts and actions that follow,
that unbelievably beautiful excitement in looking forward to the next self-destruction
and the survival from it, in a way so painful that the mind wants to stop,
but the mind would't let the pain go.
The pain, the mental torture, and the self-destruction -
unintetionally induced by others and all self-inflicted,
that was the middle point between life and death.
Nobody, nobody at all, could change that middle point.
Nobody could ever understand that the kitten needed it -
that feeling of pain, that feeling, that pain -
its only way to continue taking every breath,
to fight on for more milestones of pain,
to fight on for more milestones of escaping death.
The kitten just need it to feel alive.
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Sometimes to stay alive you got to kill your mind.
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The kitten sat down at one corner,
on the uncomfortable ground,
where it was muddy and wet,
and grass sticking all over its fur.
The kitten looked up at the clouds,
watching every last human being on earth
leaving in a hot air balloon, flying up, up, and away.
While it sat there, prepared to suffer the pain of loneliness.
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"You can't wake up, this is not a dream.
You're part of a machine, you are not human being.
With your face all made up, living on a screen.
Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline."
Feed me. Fuel me.
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M.
Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me.
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