A Lesson in Insensitivity

"Even if I hate you (as weird as this sounds) I will always love you...I know you're not usually one to act rashly. I hope that whatever it is you've decided to do is something you will never EVER regret."

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I am the robot, the calculator, the machine. I know what will happen months before it does, because all consequence is inevitable, and anything inevitable may be seen by the open eyes.

Teacher, teacher! I have learned!

And what? I bring love to teach you hate! Embrace it! I bring joy to teach you suffering! Embrace it! I bring salvation to teach you that you are damned! Embrace it!

What greater comedy can the universe offer than that of the caring female?

I lead people to hatred because it's their only option. The only way to be free of the love-virus is to denounce it totally and erect a golden calf in its place. So it goes, so it goes.

Everyone knows, everyone bows.

Behold your inactive Moses who casts down not the idol. He will praise it with you, should you like. He will make you happy, make you feel like the golden goddess!

What does he owe you? Hasn't he given it all away? Surely his endless soul-coffers can give more, let us see if we can't drain him further!

Ask it and ye shall recieve, oh children of the false Zion!

He does not look beautiful, yet you see his radiance. You feel that the sword of his love could shatter the crude tools of all others, yet you choose the protection of the lesser mortals. You are brought down from the heights of which only he can elevate you by others, yet you choose them instead.

He needs not to break the stones; you break them for him!

Then, with teary eyes, you stare on in despair. "Why are our holy ways destroyed?" you lament, "How could you possibly turn to us a cold glance?"

And he will shake his head, knowing of your foolishness, taking you up as the children you are just as he always has. He will kiss you on your foreheads and say:

"Sha, be still. My soul is not yet dead. Ask, and it shall all be yours."

Hungrily, they will all tear pieces of it away and devour them, promising themselves the empty promise that they shall not return, knowing fully well that when the time comes, they will cannibalize once more with all the savage eagerness of the beast.

And I will lie dead and bleeding before them, still smiling, elevating, and loving.

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THAT'S poetic.

Everyone should ask of themselves quite often a relatively simple thing:

Who do I have the right to stand by? Who do I have the right to say I have been a friend to? Who has the right to claim that of me?

Where was I when that person's world collapsed? Where was he when mine did?

Most importantly, perhaps, is asking, Would any of our answers be the same?