God's Mercy

They used to ask where are the good people? I haven't heard that one in a while. Looking around it's not so much the violence and deception that gets to me but the indifference. A head chopped off, rolls down the street and drips blood into a gutter. Nobody seems to notice. As if a rat just ran across the road. A piece of trash in the wind. It's not that nobody notices that it's a head, it's that nobody cares.

When I was a child, one would walk down the street and recognize faces. There wasn't always a greeting or a smile but there was some kind of acknowledgement. Today I'm a shadow among shadows. Shadows that take up space but don't matter. Strays here and there, prowling, searching for food.

I remember young people, optimists, talking about the meaning of life. Change. Capitalism. Communism. Fascism. Religion. Spirituality. Such popular terms that would not even make it to a museum today. Well it's not like the museums are open or relevant anymore. They're scary, concrete structures that attract the worst of the strays. The ones who'll eat you alive even if they don't have to. Just for the heck of it.

It's hard to comprehend a world without remorse but that's where I'm at. The belief in a God seemed to have made a difference in the past but today, there's still belief but man are they the worst of all the shit that floats upstream and downstream here. In the name of their cunt of a God they rape, murder, steal and then sacrifice for atonement. Not their atonement but mine. The heathen's.

Not once but endless times have I found myself surrounded by these disgusting wolves, with their sickening desires and plans. Their fanatical grins and cheers. Foaming from their mouths like rabid beasts. You'd think I'd get satisfaction out of putting them out of their misery but I hate it all. I hate the world I live in. I hate the purging that I do. That the State does. That all the corrupt territories do. But is any one of them worth saving? Deserving of mercy? I doubt it.

There was a concept that was shared with me once about giving people the benefit of the doubt and then people would get hurt, well their feelings, because that person ended up speaking badly about them behind their back. Can you imagine that? Hurt because someone spoke badly about you? I chuckle when I see those shit heads walking down the road with makeshift weapons, not to defend themselves but to attack. To seek and destroy the weak. Women, children, old people, the sick.

You might wonder where's the police. They're here. Don't worry. They come in these armored fortresses on wheels and burn everything to shit with unimaginable eggageration. Maybe they're scared but I see their eyes lit up and excited. I have no doubt they get a kick out of it. Power over others is an incredible drug. I've taken it and it's addicting. On the bright side nobody gets arrested. There are no jails anymore. They just kill you. But if you kill them, well they'll just keep trying to kill you. Fortunately I'm not in that situation.

Everyone calls those police fortresses something else. The religious cunts call them chariots. The strays call them the cleaners. The State calls them Safety Vehicles. But the name shared with me by a nomad child from the desert was God's Mercy. Because it's the most pleasant way to go. It's not the way I'd like to go.

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