Insanity
A girl gets payed to have sex with a stranger she doesn’t like.
Another girl doesn’t get payed for raising a family with a guy she loves.
A kid gets a good grade by reading over an assignment about a book and answering the questions.
Another kid gets a bad grade for wasting his time reading the book.
A doctor gets payed for remembering the name of his patient – who is now dead.
Another doctor is sued by a patient for performing CPR on him.
A president is payed for leading attack on a country successfully.
A soldier if fined because he went out drinking with a civilian.
Sad, how education is often the opposite of learning and money is opposite to value…
Dr. J.P.
A little drawing in an empty book.
A thought of deleting it comes to mind, yet i can say it is important to me.
I don’t delete it. It is important to me.
That guy who drew it, he was surfing the sea. Becomming friends with a long passed doctor, that is out of the question for him. I can’t really talk to him, the doc keeps him busy. He is the guy, the one surfing the sea. The one who drew the picture.
Because i know what he was, i keep the picture. Because i can’t accept what he is now i hold onto his past self. Because i can’t accept what he is, i hold onto the picture.
I will delete the picture. It will feel like betraying him. But for myself, i know i need to betray the him of the past to accept the him of the present. Its hard for me to feel so deeply my own cruelty; how i prefer what he can’t ever be anymore. To expect of him to be what he can’t be anymore.
I wonder, how many times have i hurt him before realizing that the problem is really me? Being accepted because you’re mistaken for someone else; and pretend it is kindness. It is so easy to be the kind person. The cruelty in me runs so wild it even hurts me when i look at it. I wanna run from it. Hide in a safe place.
I will delete the picture. The thought of it breaks my heart. His past self dies, a part of the present me dies.
And to accept myself that whether we meet or not, i will become so intimately close with the doc.
Inception
In a dream, you don’t remember how you got to a place. You know you were a child, you see how the scene is playing out, you remember that. Where did you come from so you could even be born?
What if the whole of your waking reality is only a dream?
zacione 