I have no reason to have any respect for society, or any construct therein. I have to use the little patience I have in the pointlessness of daily life, catering to idiocy and self-aggrandizing, foolish people.
If I stopped and suddenly changed into the person that displays what I really think, I would have even more to deal with. It seems like this is the only place where people can be so self-important and so worthless at the same time. Domesticated Man is a creature that sits and moans and abuses himself because he isn't a movie star -- or a beast that enjoys feeding off of himself.
The aging drunk, the old one in my past, and my own tendency to become the same; three different people, and three representations of my loathing towards the outside world. People are small, selfish, insignificant things, and the consolation that my own brain has to be reflected somewhere out there grows dimmer and more shadowed, until I start to think its an illusory comfort, and I start to think that I'd really like to see the world go to Hell in my lifetime. At least then, I would know that it would be in more capable hands, having erased the only animal that can stab a sword into anything in sight, while simultaneously wondering why it feels so alone.
It's as well
to be here
It's right here
and I haven't got a thing
and my memory
will be the death of me.