Leapdragon 2016 - Aron Hsiao Was Here

happy v-day, everyone  §

The problem with private diary entries is that nobody ever sees what you wrote.
The problem with public diary entries is that someone always sees what you wrote.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if all of my private diary entries were accidentally made public.

There is nothing I want more.
There is nothing I want more to avoid.

Why do we humans spend so much time hurting each other and ourselves? And why are we so determined not to let people care about us, even as we desperately try manipulate them to ensure that they’ll continue to care?

We hold holidays for love full of products and advertisements amidst exploitation, unfaithfulness, killing, and destruction. How about for our love holiday, we all:

– Help those in need
– Tell the truth about ourselves and everything else
– Promise each other our loyalties
– Deliver on those loyalties, even if it means personal sacrifice
– Pursue peace

Chocolate’s okay, and so are roses and carbon crystals, but as measures of human caring, they’re monumentally stupid and hypocritical.

For today, I will try to forgive everyone who’s ever hurt me or lied to me. At least until tomorrow.

Every crime, from murder to rape to theft to espionage, is the result of an act of betrayal: a broken promise, a shattered expectation, a lie.

If you’re convinced that everyone is slimy, maybe you’re spending your time in the wrong places, with the wrong people. Maybe there is something about sliminess that you secretly like very much. Or maybe you just want to think of yourself as one of the slimy people, too.

leapdragon says:

It’s denial: if you admit that your life is now, you also have to admit that your life is not later. Nobody wants to die. Nobody is willing to believe that they’ll die.

That’s why people fuck, that’s why people pray, that’s why people earn, that’s why people spend, that’s why people are assholes until the very end.

We’re all looking the Big Blackness right in the face and pretending that we can beat it shitless, but it’s like Evander Holyfield or Mister T and we’re just fucking Richard Simmons.

Death’ll get ya. Better not fuck around on your mate or spend all the cash on your plate, or you die alone and leave nothing to no-one.

Word to the wise. Or your mother. Or fucking whatever.

I hope I get the job.

Sonicfreefall says:

The question I repeatedly bead against the inside of my skull is, "What the hell are people doing? Where are they trying to get to? Why even go anywhere? Don