Fuelled by hatred, desire, curiosity and dreams

I really wasn't going to post tonight. Mainly, to be honest, because I had no real inspiration to write.

Fortunately, when inspiration fails, others step in and incidentally say something that makes you think in new, decaying orbits of thoughts.

And here I find myself looking back again on things in the past. This time, fortunately, it's with a mildly content grin, and a slight shrug.

All people are driven by only a few elements, anything else is just icing on the cake, at least from my perspective. It can be an ideal, an emotion, and assuming mental instability, I'm sure it can be the invisible martian lodged in your brain, too.

Years ago, I was fuelled by bitterness and hatred. Ultimately stemming from not liking myself, or what I had achieved, I projected it onto life, wishing misery on my fellow humans. Not to a degree where I'd actually cause noticeable damage, mailing nailbombs to random people or whatever, but simply wishing loss and sorrow for others.

It's natural, when you feel at a loss, and no seeming way out, you eventually channel it out at whatever gets in the way.

For me, I had an outlook on life that'd make Nietzche hide behind his moustache, and Voltaire make warding-off gestures. Lord of the dusk, mister acidity himself. It didn't make me feel better, but at least it justified my wishing ill on others, after all, what had life really done for me?

Such hubris tends to cause divine intervention, sooner or later I'm sure whatever powers-that-be would have stuck a lighting bolt down my throat, and had me raped by a rabid badger clown wearing a sandpaper condom; so I reckon my luck was that things changed for me.

I just come to think about how it was to be purely fuelled by hatred.

I've never done cocaine, but I guess this was as close to it as I'll get without doing the powder myself.

It's bad for you, and you know it, deep down...but it's so powerful, like fire instead of blood. If you listen closely, you can hear the blood rushing through your veins, and when you're high on hatred, you can feel the power of it coursing through you. It's intoxicating, all while it's disintegrating you, bit by bit. Emotions go first, sanity follows.

Like nitrous gasoline in the tank.

Fortunately for me, I learned there are other things to fuel one's drive in life. Ever since then, though, once I realized how I was running myself into a dead end, I've caught myself thinking even more of the inspiration for anyone I talk to for an amount of time. Is their goal money? Power? Love? Hate?

If you can discern what single word drives a person, you already know a lot about them, what you do with that knowledge is something different entirely.

I still feel disdain, I'm still arrogant as fuck, my most used facial expression is that of a cocked eyebrow and nothing else, but I'm better for having learned to find other fuel methods. Life is richer when you're no longer seeing things in monochromatic.

There was a point to all this at a point, but at the moment the best thing I can think of is how it relates to my (lack of) experience with drugs. Drugs, man. I should have done them properly when I was younger, crash and burn and then return to life stronger for the experience. I hate it when people talk about their journeys through mind-expanding chemicals, and I catch myself momentarily thinking "I really should get around to trying it at some point", before realizing I don't really want to do so anymore. Some things aren't meant to be pick-up elements to your life, but solely added on top of something already good, and while my life, surprisingly enough is good, I don't think it's good enough to be able to bear me waltzing around, white powder and blood pouring from my nose. Nor do I actually think my life would be better for it.

So contradictory, I know. I want to have done it, so I actually could know how it feels, but I donn't want to try something that may change my life so drastically for so little gain.

I'm an addictive nature, as in how I respond to stimuli, and considering the cigarettes next to my keyboard, I don't think I'd need another addiction.

It's the lure of drugs, the easy way out to keep the sharp edge, to make the bright lights brighter, or the comforting darkness softer. It's a lack of self-control for so many, who need the stimulants to reach the peaks they so crave, but who am I to judge them? I don't, I just go down a different path...and we all know how tempting the other path always seems.

Clipped Wings;
Fuelled by hatred™
Fuelled by desire™
Fuelled by curiosity™
Fuelled by dreams™
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