Belligerence.

Think of it.
Life is simply moments in a zoetrophe.
Spinning together to make up our insignificant lives. Our hopeless endeavors.

Why do we still try? We have struggled for thousands of years. We have always fought. There has always been killing. Destruction. Hatred. Nothing beneficial really comes from any of it. We have advanced in scientific technology. For what purpose? To make more weapons. For killing. What good comes of hope? Of joy? Of happiness or love? Is there some grand scheme that no one has discovered? Perhaps God doesn't have a plan for us. Perhaps there is no God. Or what if, perchance, there is no Satan either? Perhaps there is no us, no human race. We are all dreaming this. Sort of a surrealistic moment. A surrealistic series of moments. There is no you. There is no them. There is only me, and who I make up. I have perfect control over everything, everyone, and anyone that happens. The subconscious takes over. Once we learn to control the subconscious, we have absolute control over reality. But once we master the subconscious, it is no longer the subconscious. Alas, the woes of man.

Something has changed within me. And to be quite honest, I am not the same. I am tired of playing by the rules of someone else's game. I want to make up the rules. If it is my world, why is it that I cannot choose how life is governed? I am through accepting limits because someone says they are so. Some things I cannot change but until I try, I will never know. If I end up losing everything I am frightened of losing, then it is my fault. But if I do lose everything that was dear to me, then what do I have to lose? I want to fly. I want to soar. I want to see the tops of the clouds and climb the thermals. And to those that would ground me and shatter my dreams; take a message back for me. Tell them that this is mine. They cannot change it. I have nothing left to lose.

On and on. Does anybody know what we are living for? Close your eyes and leave it all to chance. This seems a fair comparison to how the human race is carrying itself. Topping the bill. Owning the kill. Wanting to be the best, but not exactly quite certain as to how. Yet, we still find the will to carry on. Discovering. Examining. Existing. When will we be free of this vicious cycle? One day, we'll fly away, to leave all of this chaos to yesterday. But living from dream to dream is not a wise decision. We must not dwell on soon-to-be's or possibilities, but what is present. Now.

We find ourselves hurtling through space on a stone of immense proportions, fighting and loving and breathing and thinking and existing. Revolving around a huge ball of fire. We are all smashed together onto one colossal rock with nowhere else to go. Man is undying, and therefore he will die endlessly. He will never truly stop existing because somewhere, there will be a small piece of the human race. But at the same time and place, it will constantly die. For this is the curse of mankind; to perpetually quarrel with itself. It is a hopeless battle, filled with despair and pain and fear. But it is also filled with hope and joy and love.

All right, enough. So be it. Let all of mankind be agreed, it is opprobrious. Obliteration is what it was created for, and it will cast itself unto oblivion until the end of time.