Talking to a parasite

[GlompChomp]

You'll always be eating something. Food, music, drugs, emotion, laughter, knowledge or people, you'll get your fill. When Mother Dopamine was ripped away from your lips after infancy, the emptiness needed to be filled. I wouldn't disregard the numerous people who never suckled. But the instinct is still there. You're a consumer, a big gluttonous parasite.

What you consume turns to shit. That's the natural order of things and all animals produce shit. Only you are a superior animal, human. The hairless apes are so refined, civilized, powerful and intelligent in the ways which they consume and produce shit. Entire cultures revolve around feeding and waste production. They turn the land into dunghills and fling their feces, using the waste of what they consume as a mockery of what they consume.

Your opinions, your tastes, your personality, your goals, your hopes, your beliefs and maybe even your life are nothing but an imitation. You're degraded to eating other people's shit, or flinging what you've acquired at people who don't appreciate that particular taste. You don't actually own anything do you? It was all someone else's idea wasn't it? It's not your Jesus or your music or your opium. And yet you go on acting like you wouldn't know the difference, sculpting your piles of other people's shit to be aesthetically pleasing. To whatever best suits your tastes. Whatever might bring you closest to Mother. Whatever makes you happy, sedated, braindead, suspended in a grey stupor between life and death.

You would take it all if you could wouldn't you? All that's left of it anyway. Everyone wants to know what will happen to them. If they don't, they're left with emptiness. Make the parasite doubt and it will begin to starve. When that hole isn't filled, it swells with fear. That's not acid boiling in your stomach. You've been away from Mother for too long and if you don't run along home, who knows what might happen? You might lose your fix. You might not fit in anymore. You might not be loved. You might die.

You might be reborn.


I suck at this writing stuff. 

[Cainad (dec.)]

ITT, GlompChomp explains why the world needs more easy-access titties.