What is freedom? I ask myself this every day. My parents are fully against smoking. I jump my room window and close it, I grab my Malboro Light and smoke like three of them. Then after the smoke fades away I open the window, throw them in the toilet and discharge them to oblivion. I’m influenced by the things around me, the movies, the music, the literature. I feel my brain get irrigated by the nicotin inside of the absolutely stimulating-killing substances inside of the malboro. I think about the movies. Nowhere Boy, A single Man, Fight Club, Seven, The girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Perks of being a Wallflower, Casablanca, Citizen Kane, Panic Room, A Clockwork Orange, 2001, One flew Over the Cuckoo’s nest , Yellow Submarine, Across the Universe, Funny Games, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and many more. What the main characters seek other than freedom? But I say, freedom is a illusion. They’re not free. They can’t do everything they want, they can’t say everything they want, they’re trapped inside society rules, that made them who they were since the beginning of the story.
Now the songs, On the Other Side (“I’m tired of everyone I know, of everyone I see on the street, and on TV. On the other side, nobody is waiting for me, on the other side. I hate them all, I hate them all, I hate myself for hating them, so I’ll drink some more, I’ll love them all, I’ll drink even more, I hate them even more than I did before, on the other side…”), Is There a Ghost, Alegria Alegria, Tropicália, Panis et Circenses, Leãozinho, Sociedade Alternativa, Lonely Boy, Alive, Common People, Rehab, She’s Lost Control, Like a Rolling Stone, Comfortably Numb, Desire Be Desire Go, Brain Damage, Where is My Mind, Ignorance Is a Bliss, Blitkrieg Bop, Aint no Rest for the Wicked, Hey Man, Hey Joe and many many more.
The Literature, Kerouac, Bukowski, Vonnegut, Palahniuk, Goethe, Hugo, Dumas, Larsson, Kafka, Asimov, Bradbury, Green, Nietzsche, oh dear, I’m starting not to feel my fingers. Well, all this references, they all have this thing in common. they want freedom, they want to say what is in their heads. But they are locked inside their own existence, just like Ian Curtis said “Existence, well, what does it matter? I exist on the best terms I can. The past is now part of my future. The present is well out of hand.” We are all limited to our own imagination, we are all limited to the things we know. Our bodies get cancer, get parasites, get diseases, we can’t do whatever we want when we want. I feel my lungs inhale the smoke, I feel my head grow with this thoughts. Man, we are in a prison. A prison that our fathers and grandfathers and ourselves put us on. Are you familiar with the latin expression “modus-operandi”? It’s like everyone has a pre-determined way of acting, a already known destiny of our lives and thoughts. I’m in my room here writing this stuff and scared of my parents feeling the smell of smoke and conspiracy thoughts I have. The middle class reign of despair. The self locked and ditched away key of our lives.
People that care about other people point of view, the putrid smell of the society putting its claws on our spines and controlling us in every move and every single interaction we have. The pre determined criticism the original and unique artists we have and had. What is so good about our lives? What is so good about the nature? What is so good about knowing all the things I know? I feel inspired by all this artists and nevertheless I’m locked inside my room, smoking, hiding from some rules I never agreed on. Equality? HAHA, don’t make me laugh. “This world is rotten” said Kira, or Light Yagami as you prefer. If you believe on yourself too much you’ll end up calling yourself Napoleon or Julius Caesar. Then they’ll lock you up in a stuffed white room and call you crazy. I don’t want to be ignorant, but isn’t it a bliss? Not to know how much your life is really miserable? To be happy with your paycheck. Oh, miss the day when I was just only a child and my mental capacity wasn’t too high to know how things really are.
The closest I’ll get to freedom is to listen to some ignorant and not-well-thought comment and picture myself pulling a shotgun and blasting the brains out of some stereotyped girl(Drive). I would never kill someone if that’s what you’re concerned now reading this enlightened piece of post. I want to criticize everything like Nietzsche, I want all to blow up like Tyler Durden, I want all to burn like Nero. I want to kill the non existing gods they have created. I want the big crunch to begin so all this putrid things I see are left in the fucking oblivion of the universe. Is there any living organisms out there in the universe? I hope the come and make us slaves and make we eat our own shit. We never had to pay the price for killing so much people(the indians, the africans, the muslims, the asians, the animals, the plants, the whole fucking universe). I hope they torture us. But they, who would be so smart, wouldn’t. What is more hell than our own little planet? The germans still pay for what they did with their antisemitism? Pff, fucking capitalism advertising. The free world advertising, the advertising of advertising(Pom Wonderful presents: The Best Movie Ever Sold). Is my loving of other people art so futile that I actually want to be inspired on all this to make my own movies?
Is there life after death? No. Is there a paradise? No. Is there a stereotyped hell? YES. OUR WORLD. There’s a story that I unfortunately don’t remember the name of Isaac Asimov that says that other living beings of our universe were so disgusted from human thoughts that it was by that matter that they wouldn’t contact us. I agree one hundred percent with them. My friend called me once Baggy Eyes, because I have dark circles under my eyes, and because what I see I kinda put it in a private pocket of my mind and hold it there so I can catarse(catarsis) it out later. Well, I do see lots of shit. I can’t understand how people are so disgraceful with each other. Why the hell does some chick when feels attracted to other boy can’t say it out loud? Or some boy when feels the same way say it to the girl, or the boy? Modus-operandi my friend, thats why.
I have to get the “ok”of other people to shout, I have to feel awkward when I do something that is not accepted by the already known ‘terms of living in society’. I have to eat, digest and shit. I have to study, memorize and write. I have to jump a window to smoke. They had to hide themselves and apologize to the church for a scientific breakthrough. They had to sing its lungs out to the crowd. They had to die for their country. They had to see their sons die in front of them for a secret. They had to lock imagination and words to built this world. Freedom? Don’t make me laugh.
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