Perfection Is Trivial / Brain Damage

| Posted in , , , , , , | Posted on 10:51 PM

  I'm not in a particularly happy mood.
  I'm having misanthropic feelings. No, it's not another random word picked up from the dictionary. It means hatred for the human species. Or well, in essence it does.
  Humans suck. Hard.
  They're inefficient, they have feelings, and they eat for taste! Can you imagine not eating for taste! DAMN! Zebras and worms and animals - all of them eat just to freaking live! AND WHAT DO WE DO!? Spend a million bucks on food that is made exactly according to our preferences because we humans are just that freaking demanding! I'm not saying everyone does this, though. Let's not even talk about the darker side, I'm not in that sort of a mood. Eh. These feelings pass away in about, like, really short amounts of time.
  Like now, I don't hate humans so much. I just hate my brain. Or something. Meh. I don't even know.
  For my next life, I wish I end up a dog. Wait, no, I'm one in this life too. Nevermind. So then, I guess I'll choose to be a giraffe. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? I'll get eaten by a lion. Or maybe a bunch of lions. They'll tear my flesh apart slowly, and take turns sipping and licking my delicious, warm blood. And if that doesn't happen, I'll spend my life peacefully searching for a mate, hoping to beat other giraffes with some kind of genetic edge(genetic drift et natural selection) and happily chewing on tasteless grass.
  But isn't it weird that humans can NEVER be perfect? I mean, NEVER do they get to be perfect to everyone. Damn relativity. They can't even please everybody. Most humans end up pleasing tons more people than others, but that's just because... well... get the drift? Humans, however, do end up perfecting certain qualities. And they possess the quality to screw that up at times, too - thanks to their hormones, vices, and who freaking knows what. To explain concisely, drunk guitarists. Perfection is trivial, anyway. 
  I haven't written anything good in a really long while. I want to write something about zombies. That'd be cool. I like zombies. They're awesome. And they're dead. A few of them are also called undead, but that's just retarded - they don't have a beating heart; so in biological terms, they're dead. I'm not much of a biologist, but I know this much.
  I happened to listen to the whole of Pink Floyd's Dark Side Of The Moon album.
  It's freaking awesome, to say the least.
  Two songs in particular, played in order continuously, kill me from the inside; not in a sad way but a nice way. Sounds corny, yeah. But no, seriously. Listen to it and you'll know. One's called Brain Damage, and the other one's Eclipse.
  I shall warn you beforehand. This is no song for the faint-hearted or the commercial clown. 

Favourite lyrical bit:
The lunatic is in my head
  You raise the blade, you make the change
  You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane
(Brain Damage)
And everything under the sun is in tune
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon

  It's possibly just the song, but I really feel like I should be at a mental hospital or a psychiatric ward. You know, just to move around and look about and everything. Plus, they'd treat me like who I really am too. Moreover, I'd really want to meet a psychoanalyst. Psychoanalysts are really cool, I'd love to be one someday. For the while, though, I'd settle for being just psycho.


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