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If you look hard enough, you’ll find a man who feels betrayed by the rock beneath his feet. As though the viscous material of his own body has actively sought out to ensure, not his demise, but an eternal rash that will never cease to itch despite any pharmaceutical remedy applied, as if this is a personal vendetta between this man, and the clay of reality. All of this merely to ensure what can’t be considered suffering on its own, but something that develops as such through an extra modicum of weight applied to one already carrying plenty, and after enough walking. No one person can be at fault for this, except for the one who feels this way, which is something the carrier must swallow. Through hubris, setting out to blame anything else can be considered a valid alternative to acceptance, but doing that would require a denial of reality, rather than submitting to the whimsicality of cause and effect. Admitting that you simply happened to be standing there when you were struck by lightning is harder than blaming Zeus. This man, however, refused to accept that in ways which no man or woman before could comprehend. He would assert that no potential coincidence or thing in the universe will offset his mission to live above the laws of even the matter itself that is allowing him to think in the first place. This was the first organism that would uproot its own parameters and alter them to affect how it as an organism functions; a machine that engineers itself to be a better engineer. This man perfected being. The moment this man breathed for the first time, the universe flinched. As if God himself understood the ramifications of this man, and shuddered thusly. The creator, powerful enough to make something outside their own parameters. Where ought the line to be drawn if not on God? What is God? Our hero here feels as though he can define this. Maybe he is where the line ought to be drawn. |
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