Philosophical Swill III

Hellstrøm: I’ve found you at last! Mensch, wie get es dir?
Swine: I am not a Mensch, as you know very well.
Hellstrøm: Egal! What’s going on? Why did you leave me, what are you doing here?
Swine: heading for slaughter. The French apparently love pork-chops more than philosophy.
Hellstrøm: What, uhh . . . yeah, I know, but . . . I can save you!
Swine: no you can’t. Just try, asshole.
Hellstrøm: What . . . asshole?! I brought you to Paris, I . . .
Swine: Yeah, so . . . ? Yeah, okay, you did. Never thought I’d see Paris. A simple swine from the country and all. Heard so much about it, and I must say I had a great time. The Parisians loved me, until . . . Well, whatever . . .
Hellstrøm: You are the perfect organic swine, you have such beautiful ears . . . I don’t understand.
Swine: Swines get slaughtered, Hellstrøm. I’m on a stoic trip, Zeno, Seneca, y’know . . . don’t wanna go, but I gotta face the facts.
Hellstrøm: . . . but . . . you have such lovely ears.
Swine: Fuck the ears, Hellstrøm, I’m meat.
Hellstrøm: Your ears . . .
Swine: Christ, Hellstrøm . . . leave the fucking ears already! They sure as hell have nothing to do with philosophy.
Hellstrøm: Well, with my philosophy . . .
Swine: Which is what?
Hellstrøm: Jesus . . . !
[Editors note: at this point the report breaks off. We can only assume that the slaughter was, ahem, carried out, as it were.]
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Too Heavy

The world you are in: too heavy. You walk around, weighed to the ground . . . too heavy. The base-line of gravity is pounding on down in to your body and brain. There is a thin little violin inside you, tasting its notes on high, trying to get above it all, but even it gets pounded down with time. Another glass of wine will not succor your ailing existence. Even the wine is too heavy for you now. You try a light white wine, but no. Slowly but surely, in spite of you resistance, you’re grounded down to ground.
Try as you may, despite all you have, have not, or might, you will soon be no more than slick on the floor. The guitar tries a couple licks, and they too are borne down in the gravitas of it all. The drums are dying out, though you still hear them trying out some jazzy shit in the background. Soon, sooner than you think, you are nothing more that the mathematical line. All you have is length. No depth, no height.
No more walking, dude, you just lie there. All dreams of ooh-aah are no more. No brass will help you now, no ska, that isn’t even a memory anymore. And the line keeps getting shorter . . . until you are just a single point in the vast vista of life, yeah, of the universe.
You are the smallest possible part, a part so infinitesimally small the it can hardly claim existence. You’re light then, aren’t you? No weight. All the things you have done and thought fly from you, because you have no gravity anymore. You are the opposite of a black hole. Hell, this is for the physicists, have you never postulated the opposite of a black hole? I am certain that it exists.
In any case, when you get to that point, you realize that nothing matters. Haha, matter, matters… yeah, whatever. I am one heavy motherfucker, too fucking heavy, and I am lighter than air. I’ll fly over you, but if you fuck with me, I’ll set down on you like, no, not like a ton of bricks, bricks ain’t shit against me . . . like a galaxy, like a fucking universe.
These weights exist, folks, and they weigh down on you all. It’s the Man. The Man who says what you gonna do, and what you gonna think. Heavy dude, I am the Man, sometimes. I tell people what to do. I weigh down on them. And I notice when it is too heavy. It’s hell when you have to weigh down even though it’s too heavy. It does bad things with you, and I recommend avoiding it if possible.
But hey, if it must be, it must be! Stamp down on the motherfuckers! What the hell, it’ll help them realize the they will be stamped down on, no matter what!
Heavy fucking shit. Heavy shit that has to do with how human beings deal with each other. You stamp down because sometimes you have to, because it seems to be the only way to get results. You already tried the soft tour, because you think of yourself as a good human being. You believe in the good of others. But for the most part you notice, with your halfway intelligent ape brain, that others simply take advantage of that. They, also with their halfway (or perhaps a quarter?) intelligent brains, are looking for some elusive advantage. God knows what they are thinking, I certainly don’t. Or perhaps I can guess, perceptive ape that I am. And what I guess is not something nice. I know what the fuck they are thinking, which is naturally to my advantage, but I don’t want to know. I don’t want to think their fucking disgusting thoughts, but I have no choice, and if I have to know, I may as well take advantage of the knowledge.
And that is Too Heavy. That is a burden I carry almost every fucking day, renewed. Each day is a challenge to my humanistic values, the values which say that every human being is worth something . . . but they do everything they can to prove the opposite!
Y’know why? Because human apes are completely fucking nutso. Not only that, they are… oh fuck it. In any case, I issued decrees, and declared that all measures were necessary. I threw my nonexistent weight.
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