impure_tale (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
impure_tale) wrote2008-11-01 11:08 pm
impure_tale) wrote2008-11-01 11:08 pm
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32
(OOC: It's Midnight Where I live!)
I propose a conundrum, dear readers -- a discussion, perhaps, to reflect not upon this most recent of floods, but rather the charnel house many of you freshly returned from in the last port.
Nature is a force that cannot reproduce without committing acts of destruction. Life and death are two inseparable processes.
We, my fellow Inmates, are caught in a place somewhere between what is a natural order, and seemingly for an unnatural reason -- someone wants us to change, to better ourselves, to overcome the circumstances which they believe led to our untimely demises. There are those of you, now, who can profess to have died twice, now. How natural, truly, is that?
Nature is mocked, here, and seemingly at the whims of some invisible officer, who takes away your freedom should you stamp your foot and placates you with a sweetie when you ask too many questions. We, my readers, do not belong here.
Why behave? Why conform? If Nature is involved in a constant process of renewal, which involves destruction, would we not be acting in harmony with her wishes if we were to continue multiplying those acts of destruction? How can Nature possibly be angry when she sees man copying her and doing what she herself does every day?
And what purpose do we serve -- what renewal takes place if we are to die here, repeatedly, and come back to the same bodies we left behind? A natural form of change has been stolen for something more base, more deluded, more man-made. And for what? Is it really for our redemption, or one man's entertainment?
A man's lifetime is spent avoiding the end, building up to it, preparing oneself or lying to the very last breath. The point is that it was horrible enough the first time -- enough that coming out of it there is not one among us that would think they should like to experience it again. What, then, is the point?
I propose a conundrum, dear readers -- a discussion, perhaps, to reflect not upon this most recent of floods, but rather the charnel house many of you freshly returned from in the last port.
Nature is a force that cannot reproduce without committing acts of destruction. Life and death are two inseparable processes.
We, my fellow Inmates, are caught in a place somewhere between what is a natural order, and seemingly for an unnatural reason -- someone wants us to change, to better ourselves, to overcome the circumstances which they believe led to our untimely demises. There are those of you, now, who can profess to have died twice, now. How natural, truly, is that?
Nature is mocked, here, and seemingly at the whims of some invisible officer, who takes away your freedom should you stamp your foot and placates you with a sweetie when you ask too many questions. We, my readers, do not belong here.
Why behave? Why conform? If Nature is involved in a constant process of renewal, which involves destruction, would we not be acting in harmony with her wishes if we were to continue multiplying those acts of destruction? How can Nature possibly be angry when she sees man copying her and doing what she herself does every day?
And what purpose do we serve -- what renewal takes place if we are to die here, repeatedly, and come back to the same bodies we left behind? A natural form of change has been stolen for something more base, more deluded, more man-made. And for what? Is it really for our redemption, or one man's entertainment?
A man's lifetime is spent avoiding the end, building up to it, preparing oneself or lying to the very last breath. The point is that it was horrible enough the first time -- enough that coming out of it there is not one among us that would think they should like to experience it again. What, then, is the point?
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I care, but I'm not your fucking babysitter. You want to try and kill the man, and you don't care about the consequences, then what can I do?
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Private--it may look like stonewalling, but Charlie is calm again! :D Good job, Rube!
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Whiskey, sure. Poker chips, playing cards, okay. Guns? No.
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There's a difference.
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No.
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Stupid son of a bitchWhy not? What if I promise not to fire 'em?
[If Rube looks REALLY carefully he can read it]
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