Dear Ang,
There might be certain questions in your mind that occasionally explode and procreate into a million pieces of rage and quickly assimilate all that you know into one righteous ball of narcissistic superiority. This knowledge that you posses of an absolute lack of truth often gives you the power for an almost reverential kind of grandiose. It’s your impregnable fortress of solitude built from sheer force of will that is as strong as any possessed by a fundamentalist raping and burning human beings because he believes god commanded him to do it.
That’s right. The wealth of an abysmal void that you precariously balance around your mind while having conversations, while you drink and work and shit? It’s worth exactly as much as the blind faith of the people you hate so much. Not a paisa more or less. Willingness to believe in nothing calls for flexibility of mind, not the relentless rigidity that is characteristic to a dictatorial religion. To fully identify the paradox of the human being you claim you are, you need to only look at today morning. While eagerly agreeing with Rust Cohle’s estimation that consciousness was a tragic misstep in humanity’s tryst with evolution, you hilariously agreed to the characters point of view that humanity as a species became too self aware, mirroring an aspect of nature that could not lead anywhere.
You, my friend are the most self aware person I have ever known. But don’t get me wrong, I will give you credit for not being obvious about it. Your strength lies in who you think you are. A few thousands of years of social evolution gave us a subspecies of human beings colloquially known as hipsters. The only identities these people were capable of forging inside multifaceted social structures were that of parodies. They parodied existing cultural norms into oddities that distinctly and firmly differentiated themselves from a dominant paradigm. You are nothing but a hypocritical hipster who has turned the idea of agnosticism and stoicism into a parody that has undertones of religious extremism. How else do you explain the Rosemary level of maternal delusion towards your own demon baby level of personal emotions? There is no objectivity in your grandeur, it is just self glorified drivel about what SHOULD be important to other people. How and why should you be able to dictate these things if you believe consciousness in itself was an evolutionary mistake?
The world would always be in need of assholes who are agnostically inclined and philosophically prone to stoicism because it helps them be such unreasonably selfish cunts. This is how faith flourishes. World religions point to the likes of you putting your sperms inside a fucking chicken because “Oh my god, what do we really know? ABOUT ANYTHING?” and asks the general public if that is the direction we need to take as a species for spiritual apotheosis. What do you think is reasonable? The idea of an omnipotent being with an abundance of love and forgiveness for most people or the awareness of a universal irrationality that lets you bruise the vulva of live chickens without any moral repercussions? Oh, I am sorry, reasonable is a “construct” as well, isn’t it?
Regards,
Jj
The yellow hues from the streetlights lit up the bald patches on top of Jj’s head with unflattering accuracy as he cut through a side street and paced purposefully in the direction of Ang’s apartment. Jj knew it was pure spite that was driving him right now. Thoughts of constructive criticism had long evaporated from an anger that constantly threatened to boil over. He just wanted to mindlessly hurt and he knew it. This was much evidenced by the fact that Jj was stifling down the doubts blooming on his sub conscious about the coherence of the carefully folded letter in his shirt pocket.
Jj had always been a fat man. Ever since he can remember his body was prone to girth the way a pet dog always tries to sniff at its master’s crotch. There seemed to be an obsessive fascination deep in his genes with the accumulation of unwanted bulk. He liked believing that it was fundamentally biological, that there was a singular cog in his spiralling sequence of DNA committed to producing more of himself in his own body. And all Jj had ever been, was the sum total of his own little beliefs.
Jj screamed into his shirt remembering the indignity of it all. A few street urchins keeping pace with him in hopes of easy money scattered like lose sand. An angry fat man screaming into a lonely Saturday night was no one’s idea of a pay day, especially not the fat mans.
Jj climbed the stairs towards Ang’s fourth floor loft. He muttered to himself in a specific way self righteous people often do when finding themselves in unrighteous situations. And this sweating, muttering man dragged all his excessive weight up four floors reeking of a nasty kind of unpleasantness. Jj had heard Iced Earth screaming about two floors down and knew Ang was home.
A singular bang on the door and no response.
Two bangs. Nothing.
Incessant banging on the door and the same result
“Does the bastard know I was coming?”
Unwilling to give up after coming this far, Jj moves towards the window and parts the Jamaican flag patterned curtain.
His friend Ang was swaying in the middle of his drawing room while putting his penis up the ass of a convulsing chicken that has a green fibre rope tied around its beak.
