Endtimes of dying…


“The truth shall set you free…”

I hate cut flowers.

They remind me of life; beautiful and dead, already…

Oftentimes suffering becomes a choice, a moral and an ethical one for the times when lying and cheating against our very own selves becomes a burden harder to bear than truth itself and its consequences.
Life itself has never been anything else but suffering; from its always unrequested beginnings, to its always bitter end, with more or less failed, all along attempts to somewhat adjust the odds of this ever unfair farce. It seems as even what’s good of it has sunk to be nothing more than pathetic patches to never stop, but just hide this ugly continuum of misery rebranded as life.
No one seems to be willing to associate the countless instances of witnessing in a way or another the collateral horrors of a child’s birth, the screams, the blood, the tears, the sometimes unbearable tension of a moment closer to death than to life, with themselves; the cheap lack of our own birth’s memories seems to be comforting enough to not even bother about it anymore…
We just don’t want to see that it is only a matter of time, a sinister extension of a tragedy, until everyone arrives where nobody wanted, to the dust and ashes about which the raptured in orgasm parents have chosen not to think at the time.
Baskets of goodies, greeting cards and flowers for those parts of this ugly world where a filthy hut full of buzzing flies ready to lay their spawn on a meager placenta isn’t life’s “normal” treat, temporarily covers the place to be littered later with late flowers of sorrow…
The everyday sight of my beautiful wife and wonderful children torments me; the thought of any more suffering besides their frail existence drains all my attempts to sanity as I can’t dissociate myself from their finiteness…
We have become so eager to squeeze as much as possible out of our shamefully short conscientiousness, that we have completely disregarded its utter uselessness.
I do apologise for my incapacity to eat my daily circus’ bread for the sake of entertaining myself into this, oblivion’s waiting chamber called lifetime…
I do apologise for my complete unwillingness to consider only the beginnings, turning a blind heart’s eyes to what shouldn’t follow, the end…
I do not want to understand death.
I do not want to accept death as “naturally” associated with life, as much as I don’t want to accept evil as anywhere related to beauty and goodness.
As one who hasn’t requested entrance into this world, please allow me the right of denying myself the allowance of stupidity.
Allow me to conclude that life in all its unfathomable beauty, is nothing else but utter emptiness, perpetually filled with more and more new, innocent lives, bound to gloriously live up to the vain task bestowed upon them by careless lovers…
Beautiful soap bubbles we are; endlessly rejoicing in one another’s miriad of colours, just to fade into a last ghostly flicker as we silently burst, leaving the short tear touch of an ephemeral presence.
Do you wonder why all known religions ultimately consider ascetic contemplation as their highest form of union with the “divine”? Behind this instinctual urge to live, lies a subliminal desire to end this seemingly endless conveyor belt of death…
I don’t care why it all started; it is just abject and unjust, and as such it should end.
And for those of you looking for cheap discounts, no, I’m not suggesting any, neither mass, nor solo suicides. These are just irresponsible and selfish crimes against those left behind to bear not only their own sysiphic burdens, but also that of the ungrateful dead…
No, I am calling for a new revolution of love…
Of fruitless love…
Of passion and absorbtion into one another, of devotion and sacrifice, ’till death shall part us, for good.
Unwilling children we arrived in this world, and childless should we remain; respectful to what we would have decided, should anyone cared to ask us before we were conceived. No one would have consented to this prologue onto dying.
And if that be the case, no one should be consenting to their children’s death, regardless how falsely remote it may seem.
And yes, I know, for most of us parents, it is too late.
Late to do anything about our careless love, anything else but the raptured contemplation of, and the utmost devotion to the wonders holding our hands, until oblivion shall part us.
And if you think it to be repulsive what you have red, do walk with your children through a cemetery and imagine yourself for a moment, leaving without them…
You’ll feel what many of us have so much wished to never feel.
And if finally you’ve come to think beyond your senses, remember to be honest when next time you talk to your growing children about life’s wonders.
The truth about the future end, shall ultimately free their present.

Bring death to it’s desirous end…

And for those religious of you, who think procreation is a divine directive, please do consider that the command to “go forth and multiply” has been given prior to “the fall”…
The statement about the sweat of our brows, the thorns and the thistles has never been a command; it is a bitter lament…

Like mine.

Photo source: Wikipedia

8 thoughts on “Endtimes of dying…

  1. Yes, dying we shall die. Your bitter lament reminds me of sayings by Euripedes as well as King Solomon’s lament that everything is vanity, a chasing after the wind. We face so many disappointments and rejections in this life and not only suffer ourselves but witness injustices and sufferings in a way that can leave us confused and wishing for death to come sooner. I’ve been there, too, but I’m glad I don’t stay there. Yes, death is inevitable, but while I still have breath, even when at times breathing itself is a struggle, I will choose to enjoy the beautiful things in life and try to bring some semblance of beauty and happiness into another person’s life, even if only for one brief moment. Who knows how far reaching that ripple might be seen or felt? ((hugs))


      1. Ok… [chuckle]… Forgive me. I can be a little slow, but I’d been pondering your lament and that part in particular. I had a difficult time getting pregnant, so when I was finally able to purposely have a child, three altogether, I felt very blessed. I feel really sad for children who were not planned nor wanted or loved. I wish I could scoop ’em all up.

        I do like the part that says, “…Of passion and absorbtion into one another, of devotion and sacrifice…”, especially at my age and stage of life. 🙂


        1. Sometimes our perception of reality, and thus of truth, becomes distorted by our own involvement in it, on an opposite realm. Your stand is perfectly understandable from your subjective point of view, which implies an a priori different understanding of my point of view, resulting in the emotional response you wrote about. I know the feeling, had it when we were praying for twins after we got married, just to have the “blessed fruit of the womb” as inseparable conjoined twins, leaving me to chose between my wife’s life and theirs. Four more followed, with the youngest one nearly killed by incompetent health “professionals”, and us left with traumas still hounting us… Yet still been waiting 20 years to notice any sign of upper level care… Instead we were emotionally and mentally “raped” by fellow ministers for just being as you see, not soothsayers, but truthsayers… We too wanted to adopt unwanted children, just didn’t have the means to, and contributed our “tithes” to rather feed the poor than the religious crooks, and our hearts still bleed for the unwanted and deprived. My objective point is nevertheless thoroughly considering the end, before conceiving the beginnings. Otherwise we are just continuous, pathetic copycats of the one(s) responsible for starting it all, just to keep lamenting all along of sorry “for making man”, and devising nothing smarter than unsuccesful attempts to kill us all along… As the Wachowskis have said through Matrix’ Morpheus, there’s no turning back after taking the red pill… The rabbit hole proves to be a horrid sinkhole populated by monstrosities… I am still ministering to probably hundreds of thousands, and can’t bring myself up to stabbing the little bit of hope still left to them… I dread though the day when truth shall dawn upon them and find them unprepared. On that day, an Armageddon might be a better option, unfortunately unavailable… I truly appreciate your honesty. Beware though, it was honesty in the first place which led me where I stand today. One can hardly imagine the utter horror of writing what you read. Every word I think of, ponder about and write, hurts…


          1. Oh, Rom, I am so sorry for the pains and heartaches you and your wife endured with your children and having to make such gut-wrenching decisions all while receiving unsympathetic, unloving judgment. I totally understand your decision, too, to give your tithes to the poor rather than religious crooks and institutions. It reminds me of the account of the people not bringing their offerings because of Eli’s wicked sons. It makes me sad to see you hurting so… but I am blessed by your heart and love for others. [gentle smile]


  2. Hi Moshe, great to hear from you! What’s happening in the cultural hub of the world – so distant from the arse-end of it where I am, grimly hanging on? What are you doing and what is the focus/are the foci of your attention? I hope you are going excellently.

    Your post above is a very bleak one but I also note you used the concept ‘beauty’ twice, particularly ‘life in all its unfathomable beauty’ and ‘beautiful’ three times.

    Best regards as always, Filippo del mondo


    1. Hi Phil, thank you from the heart for your kind words. Quite oome writing on my end, will be publishing soon.
      Unfortunately my friend, bleakness seem to have married into my realism, and carpe diem is still at learnig stage.
      Oh, and beauty is just the necessary contrast for my overall gloominess…;-)
      Cultural hub…
      Yep, with King Boris the Johnson as prime jester…


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