Rage, Rage, Rage

The algebra of human force. To be reduced from man into thing, valuable to optional, from being into nonbeing. The response (but only sometimes): unfiltered, primordial rage. To wish the same onto them. To strip them of their humanity through force, to wring their soul dry, to slice their spirit into irredeemable and disparate bits. The atomists.

Why? Why do I wish to remove a fallen person's humanity yet leave them with their life? For what end?

To place them onto a scale against my suffering. The placing of the blind, who relish in a paradise of comfort, which enables their atrocity. I wish them to see the weight of infinity crush their soul upwards towards hell.

I want to see them reach levels of humanity they have never witnessed, so I can wear God's robes and witness if they perform the miraculous sublimation of thing back into man. Most fallen angels lay in the dirt.

Contradictions. The constitution of the full absurdities of the human condition. It is very well possible, and has been proved as such historically, that he rise from oppressed to oppressor.

The gift (dangerous word) of sight to a blind man, only for him to gouge his eyes out until blood seeps from the sockets in response.

Doom, doom, doom, doom. Doomed. I live in a doomed reality where that is possible.

At least he is doomed with me.

I harbor evil inclinations at the same level as him. The only true difference between us is that I am not willing to show others the chasm within me. To delude the self that we can find a God there; the serpent… But what if his wife died of cancer and he lost something essential?

I would feel nothing.

I refuse to offload my vitriol towards a God infinitely distant from me.