I N N E R C I R C L E

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8.

The Greatest Bastard | Listen

Inside of us, there exists a bottomless pit of desperation. 

A dead cold abyss. Everyone has one of those, everyone knows they have something rotten inside of them, but to know how deep it is, what it contains, and what will be given birth to from it, is impossible. Impossible. One simple word that bears the weight of all the irrational indisputability of the immutable dreams that was broken but never faded. We can never know how infinite our abyss could go and what we have in there. Even us cannot know, you see. Our sympathetic nervous system doesn’t know. Our subconsciousness doesn’t know. Our learnt behaviour doesn’t know. We simply know nothing even of our own desire. So we stay silent in the face of every posed questions, why laugh, why cry, why even live. Why.

We stay silent in the face of the jokes of fate. We stay silent in the face of thousands of things that motivate us, beg of us, pleade us to act, do something, say something, and get out of this situation. At the end, all we can do is to keep the voicelessness thick as midnight shadow intact in its muted sound; we smell the stenches of deviant thoughts in the air but we couldn’t lead them straight because we have no idea what went wrong and what they were supposed to be. If everything about ourselves is not that messed up, then what would it take to not have it messed up; or is everything always going to be messed up anyway but in another way? If you were to relive a moment of your past, can your future be of any difference?

Seunghoon thought not. Life is not a Hollywoord movie; an action is but a dot in a series of causal actions; our choice in a given moment is but a dot in a series of choices that derived from our thinking brain – the result of nature and nurture, indoctrination and whatelse inherently ingrained in our DNA code. So no, because he is him and if he was given a chance to redo he would do the same thing over and over again; the fools stay foolish, the selfish remains so, and the ignorant would never learn any better. He could do something other than that which got he wish he could undo, but just as insane. In case it was insane. It could even be ludicrous, lethargy, and lewd, or just simply innocuous.

Therefore, he, despite his similarity to the bared eye so foolish as to think that if they can go back in time they'll be a different person, live a different way and have a much decent life, still thinks he would become another version of himself with another version of life that might be a tad benign but still probably as crushed. To think of it, because he was constrained within his own disheveled and limited intelligence, he cannot draw another outcome aside from that which he was experiencing. He is a slave to himself and act under the control of his own foolish brain, he who does not know anything else will not have anything else. So all this pain, all this darkness of his pit, all the dirty and filthy cracks inside him, alas, all of them are just the products of his own cogitation, torn and bewildered, and so he suffered them without a lament. Because everybody else in this world is also contentedly being their own slaves the way everything which constitutes their existence wants them to be, and just like him, they were desperate to ask if they should have react in a different way, and if they do, would things be any different. Why, yes. The answer is yes. Different, but perhaps not any better. But he is also ignorant of what defines better; in actuality there is only one future that has already been determined. It was determined from the minute the second he were born into this world; he whose shape was of human, he whose readily spreaded legs were shoved with the so-called nature and ethos, would live the way this world want him to live and die the way this world want him to die.

In reality, if he were somebody else, perhaps he would have done things differently, but one never knows: he is him with all this weakness of emotions and he has no other way to live but to keep making mistakes without complaining nor blaming; it was something he cannot restrain and just like everybody else, he didn’t wish upon anybody what was imposed on him, he didn’t need anyone to know how deep his abyss is and to which extent his cup is full – what belongs to him he would endure alone, and at the same time, he knew that people around him are struggling with their bottomless pit, and because they did not know his pain, he as well din’t know how much they were