Thursday, May 13, 2010

Ashes of Youth: Chapter 5.2

It seems different this time, and it is. That's why one shouldn’t fall into buying comparisons between old wars and new wars.

The worst feeling, in our newly dawned age of instant connection, is that if the disaffected refuge across the world actually talked to myself, my friends; If we talked to them we would find that there isn’t much difference in our basic dreams. The difference lays down in the straw of our day to day actions.

I know I don’t have to wake up to Iraq circa 2007, but I know in my heart that the people who are taught to hate me really don’t. The people in America who are taught to hate them really don’t. I want to think that kind of hatred is impossible. The unseemly hatred that attempted to be imparted on me made me physically sick. There is seldom enough capacity in someone to carry on the kind of hatred that we seem to believe each other possess.

The reason for the hatred is that instead of talking to new people when I get on the internet, I talk to my friends that I saw that same day, or look at videos, stupid ones and serious ones, even ones about the humans I felt this distant concern for. And I can potentially maintain a perpetual inhuman disconnect to everything that is real.

Sometimes I like that.

Sadly, I like the pixilated people more than the real ones.

But that doesn't keep their blood off of my hands.

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