![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolven7*sigh* So, you know what? i do love me. i love all of me, and every bit of me, and some people hate the parts of me that i love the most. There's no one out there that Loves my Destruction. They mayt respect it, and accept it, and fear it, or hate it, and revile it, but they don't Love it. i love it. It's a cleansing mechanism... It is very hard to do any work, here, whben everything that you do is tainted and touched by something your peers see as monstrous.
i know of some other people whose lives involve destruction. They rained sulfur, or turned people into pillars of salt, or lit seas of Glass of Fire, and no one ever said thank you. They cut the strings, and gave the story a reason, and let the trees see what it was like to be naked, and cold, so that they would appreciate what it was to be clothed and warm. And no one said thank you. They weild the flaming swords, and the pitchforks, and the sniper rifles, and the knives that give you something to move from, to grow out of. And no one says thank you. No one loves the Destructive.
No one seems to want, love and accept The End, BECAUSE of it being the End. Perhaps they accept it as part of something else; an over all picture, i guess. But what if this is what you are? What if this is the thing that makes it matter, for you? It's not the loss of life-- if there will be any-- or the destruction of Things. It's the fact that this IS it. This is why stories get started. To End. To make them worth Telling... Think i'm crazy... think i'm sick, twisted, whatever... But you're all Living things... you're all very much a part of the Spring/Summer set... You don't know what it's like to be the Fall/Winter people. You may catch brief glimpses of it, in your "darker" moments, and you'll shove these thoughts away, like so much maladjustment psychobabble, but you know what? Some of us live here. And we are not maladjusted. We, like all of you, are looking for something that understands.
Good Nyte. Dream Well.
i know of some other people whose lives involve destruction. They rained sulfur, or turned people into pillars of salt, or lit seas of Glass of Fire, and no one ever said thank you. They cut the strings, and gave the story a reason, and let the trees see what it was like to be naked, and cold, so that they would appreciate what it was to be clothed and warm. And no one said thank you. They weild the flaming swords, and the pitchforks, and the sniper rifles, and the knives that give you something to move from, to grow out of. And no one says thank you. No one loves the Destructive.
No one seems to want, love and accept The End, BECAUSE of it being the End. Perhaps they accept it as part of something else; an over all picture, i guess. But what if this is what you are? What if this is the thing that makes it matter, for you? It's not the loss of life-- if there will be any-- or the destruction of Things. It's the fact that this IS it. This is why stories get started. To End. To make them worth Telling... Think i'm crazy... think i'm sick, twisted, whatever... But you're all Living things... you're all very much a part of the Spring/Summer set... You don't know what it's like to be the Fall/Winter people. You may catch brief glimpses of it, in your "darker" moments, and you'll shove these thoughts away, like so much maladjustment psychobabble, but you know what? Some of us live here. And we are not maladjusted. We, like all of you, are looking for something that understands.
Good Nyte. Dream Well.
