Path of a Thousand Corpses

For my peers, everything is make-believe. And I don’t know whether it’s because they are so smart-ass, or because they are so mediocre. Surely the truth is somewhere in between.

And it's strange. After all, it seems that we were brought up in approximately the same environment, using the same models. But no, as you can see. Let me clarify: I’m talking about those peers who received an education and upbringing of a level similar to mine.

Apparently, after all, we have absorbed somewhat different things. I am inclined to classify myself as approximately the generation of youth of the 70s (as far as my meager understanding of those people allows me). At the same time, I appreciate what, say, the 90s gave us. But it seems that my peers, having taken everything from the 90s, were unable to separate the wheat from the chaff, finding themselves hostage to a vicious plane.

And wandering along the vicious plane, you will eventually tangle a vicious tangle around you. But since other planes are unknown to you, you make peace with this one. You accept the rules of the game because this is the only game you know how to play.

This is the only game they know how to play - they don't know how to play anything. They do not know how to love - this is limited to ideas gleaned from below-average films, from books by half-successful scribblers, and is not connected to life. Because life should be an endless repetition of that chain of acquired images, that small number of experienced events that managed to happen before and during your puberty.

They don't know how to hate. They don’t have enough strength for this, because the source of all their strength is below-average films and songs of progressive rock poets. Half-successful scribblers will not have enough courage, talent, or strength to portray even a grain of true hatred.

They don’t even know how to despise - they are afraid of losing something. They are afraid of losing everything, so they endlessly accumulate long-dead states of mind. Guess if they are capable of movement when a thousand corpses rest on their humps? They don’t even have the strength to despise anything. And there is no need to despise anything. If only because there are no principles anyway - in the best and only possible case, these are the principles of half-successful hacks.

Having finally trampled something, mixing it with their snot, my peers can finally accept it as their own, put its dead remains on their hump and remain in place with an ironic grin on their face, which last took on a living expression at the end of puberty. After that incident, my peers apparently promised themselves (and at the same time - each other) that they would never again allow anything or anyone to throw them off balance. For which it is best to kneel down and put more corpses on your hump so that the wind does not blow away.

The path to an endless ironic grin begins with the thousandth corpse. My peers already have a hundred thousand million of them, and what about you?