Post by Commissioner Warrior™ on Nov 27, 2011 18:48:43 GMT -5
"There's nothing about me that I regret. I merely regret the way you see me."
The real question to be asked, is where to begin? How do you tell the story? Do you begin at the end and then slowly fill in the blanks? Do you start with the foundation and then build onto it? Do you create an image then slowly tear away the bits and pieces hiding the truth? Maybe the problem with me is that I'm not trying to tell the story.
I, on the other hand, am taking the story and slapping you in the face with it at every waking moment. I take the whole story and everything about it and chunk it at you like a bolt of mythological lightning and expect you to catch it. The response is pretty consistent. Most of the time, it hits square on its mark and electrifies whoever it has impacted more than they can even begin to understand. After that, it's like the joke handshake buzzer you can't keep away from.
But what happens if someone catches it? What happens if for some reason, I end up waiting to throw it. I never intend to throw it, but deep down in a place that not even I understand, the bolt is being created. My heart is forging it behind my back, knowing precisely what I'm walking into. You don't expect it and I don't expect it. In time, you begin to understand my timing. You even begin to appreciate my timing and my abilities. You understand my lightning bolt better than anyone. Just then, at the moment that everything clicks, my heart sneaks out at night and strikes you swiftly and silently.
You would be shocked beyond belief. You should be shocked beyond relief. That's when it happens. That's when the one thing I never expected takes place. You outstretch your hand on pure instinct and catch it before it even lands. It has backfired. Suddenly I'm the one who is shocked. I've just given you my greatest weapon. My greatest weapon and my greatest defense is at the disposal of my greatest ally without my knowledge. My luck dictates that this will not turn out well.
You begin to turn on me, without your own knowledge. This is not a product of you, but of those around you. You slide back into the comfort of the old ways and reject the advancements of a new world. You blindly hold on to the things you were taught because of fear that I might be right. Suddenly it occurs to you that no one else understands this. You hold the key. You are the only one who can stop me. All you have to do is say the word.
Your people stand by your side, doing only what they know to do. They don't understand my ways and they don't understand my weapons. Yet all it would take is one swift blow. Upon impact, they would turn. They would be defenseless against me, as most are. You can't become my enemy, not truly. You are incapable of such. Yet you let the fear of those around you overwhelm and turn you. You use my own weapons against me to save your people from me. All the while you murder yourself at the hands of my weapons.
Why do I have to become the bad guy? This is your fault.
The real question to be asked, is where to begin? How do you tell the story? Do you begin at the end and then slowly fill in the blanks? Do you start with the foundation and then build onto it? Do you create an image then slowly tear away the bits and pieces hiding the truth? Maybe the problem with me is that I'm not trying to tell the story.
I, on the other hand, am taking the story and slapping you in the face with it at every waking moment. I take the whole story and everything about it and chunk it at you like a bolt of mythological lightning and expect you to catch it. The response is pretty consistent. Most of the time, it hits square on its mark and electrifies whoever it has impacted more than they can even begin to understand. After that, it's like the joke handshake buzzer you can't keep away from.
But what happens if someone catches it? What happens if for some reason, I end up waiting to throw it. I never intend to throw it, but deep down in a place that not even I understand, the bolt is being created. My heart is forging it behind my back, knowing precisely what I'm walking into. You don't expect it and I don't expect it. In time, you begin to understand my timing. You even begin to appreciate my timing and my abilities. You understand my lightning bolt better than anyone. Just then, at the moment that everything clicks, my heart sneaks out at night and strikes you swiftly and silently.
You would be shocked beyond belief. You should be shocked beyond relief. That's when it happens. That's when the one thing I never expected takes place. You outstretch your hand on pure instinct and catch it before it even lands. It has backfired. Suddenly I'm the one who is shocked. I've just given you my greatest weapon. My greatest weapon and my greatest defense is at the disposal of my greatest ally without my knowledge. My luck dictates that this will not turn out well.
You begin to turn on me, without your own knowledge. This is not a product of you, but of those around you. You slide back into the comfort of the old ways and reject the advancements of a new world. You blindly hold on to the things you were taught because of fear that I might be right. Suddenly it occurs to you that no one else understands this. You hold the key. You are the only one who can stop me. All you have to do is say the word.
Your people stand by your side, doing only what they know to do. They don't understand my ways and they don't understand my weapons. Yet all it would take is one swift blow. Upon impact, they would turn. They would be defenseless against me, as most are. You can't become my enemy, not truly. You are incapable of such. Yet you let the fear of those around you overwhelm and turn you. You use my own weapons against me to save your people from me. All the while you murder yourself at the hands of my weapons.
Why do I have to become the bad guy? This is your fault.
