Get off the cross

Get off the cross and appreciate what you have that others don’t.  Most people around the world have it way worse than you.

 

Image of man in work gear with a welding helmet leaning against a boiler or something.

 

Caption: “I never had that mommy and daddy money.  I had that work my ass off or I won’t have any money.”

 

I was a Justice (money, power and sex) entertainment, torture slave—and still I am. I have been dead my whole life. With too much pain the whole time. By all accounts I have lived the worst life anyone has ever lived.  And I am grateful an satisfied.  Made to appear like all the things you hate or want or both. So youwould destroy me and my life completely—all of you.  

 

It has fucked up your mind entirely. You used to be satisfied. You used to be happy. Now you’re all like little girls whining. And it seems to be becoming institutionalized. Right now my back is broken. I had to take a slow, abbreviated shower. I couldn’t even wash my legs. 

 

Does your body work. Can you smell flowers?  I can’t. Can you taste Italian food. I can’t. Can you feel alcohol or marijuana. I can’t. Can you work. I’m not allowed to very often. Can you love. I can’t. Can you orgasm?  I can’t. And all you can talk about is mommy and daddy and money and how unfair things are. 

 

Are you free. Can you say what you want?  I can’t speak. Can you walk. I can’t. Can you play sports. I can’t. Do you exist. Can you appreciate life. Can you make your life?  I can’t. Do you have rights?  

 

Do you have money—instead of hunting and gathering?  

 

And you attack me. And I fight for you. My life was so hard the whole time you would blow your head off.  But I dont.  I have been listening to all of you whine your whole lives—when you have everything and don’t know it.  Do you have family?  I can’t. Do you have friends.  I can’t.  Do you have children?  Do you have freedom?  

 

How about enjoying your life and your labors and your recreation. I can’t. How about creating something beautiful or children?  I can’t. 

 

I’m about to celebrate my 50th birthday alone losing forty dollars at the casino and having a cigarette or two underneath the neon. Still dreaming. 

 

Apparently this is the only language you understand.  Victimhood. I have solved all of your problems otherwise—if you ever get to see it.  I was born a dead extreme torture slave so you could be free.  And even freer one day.

You have no idea how easy you have it.  Life is easy.  Live it.  You can.  Some can’t.