<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d8495862\x26blogName\x3dthe+cinnamon+peeler\x27s+wife\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dSILVER\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://cinnamonpeeler.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://cinnamonpeeler.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-8555844040056210814', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

the cinnamon peeler's wife

10.04.2004 at 1:07:00 PM

i feel as empty as a drum

i wrote this on april 22, 2003 (as the war in iraq began). just random thoughts…

the world is numb and unfeeling. No one can hear the screams of terror that rise from souls. No one notices the pools of blood, no one stops to comfort the sobbing, wailing, writhing masses. We pass in our trances: onward and upward. We are all alone, empty, and busy as bees: doing nothing, saying nothing, feeling nothing. Our attitudes and attentions are so depleted… we know not even ourselves. Who cares about others, their histories, their literature, their hearts? Beauty has vanished, only replaced by screams and anguish. Pain and black dots swimming in my vision; fever and dizziness.

Where are the humans? Scream and wail… no one will hear you, no one will help you. For my lover… no one loves, no one loves. The empty talk of strangers, the rhetoric of imposters, the diatribes of fools, the acceptance of the dead. What have we become, where are we going: the tears have run dry. Confusion. Where to look, what to do, get lost in the loneliness and mundaneness of routine. Skip routine, just sleep, sleep, sleep. Writhe in pain, dirty, crying, alone, voices, wilderness. What a mess. What else should I be?

We busy ourselves so as not to notice the sufferings, the suffering of our own souls. The souls around us. Souls which we have killed and maimed and tortured with our mass consumption and our shiny bombs. How nice. We kill people, steal their names, and put them on our bombs and kill some shiny new people. How ironic. How fucking ironic!

We don’t care, they don’t care. No one cares. No one sees truth. No one feels pain anymore. All we see is our cinematic, grand 30 minute special- no reality left, no humanity: just screaming, just blood, no more tears. Why cry? Alone, no one hears and no one will. falsity.

Post a Comment