The Veterinarian – (2) Three Mothers, the Crowd of Me, Me, Me and the Killing of Souls

One:      One father, finally concluding, after endless disheartening attempts, that no real help exists or can be found in his daughter’s situation, eventually turns his attention to making sure that if she is going to attempt to find peace, that she does so without any chance of an incomplete, suffering failure.

Two:      A daughter’s boyfriend sits at a table and tells the woman he thought might someday be his future mother-in-law that she deserves better for herself. He tells her that he understands how she feels alone and scared, and that he knows how hard it is to find a true companion that completes you in all of the parts of your soul, but that nonetheless, she must fight for that hope. He tells her to leave the monster and the despair that she has settled with. He tells her that she deserves better.

Three:   A husband says that he had no idea that his wife had breast cancer. He didn’t know why he was purchasing bandage material for the last six months and he just thought that her back pain for the last eighteen months was a muscle pull or something. The husband says that he just can’t understand why it happened. He says that there was no real reason except for his wife’s self imposed stress. He ignores reality; she was a closet smoker, her diet was always unhealthy, she never exercised, she was obese, she never went to the doctor and she never underwent mammograms. He pretends that he did not support all of that behavior.   

 

                People of a self-relative philosophy, ever content in their application, although constantly inept in thought and fairness, must inherently suffer from a subhuman intelligence or choose to continuously fracture the logic of their reason, damning them to an inescapable madness; and it is an inescapable madness that they must transform into a contagion. It must become infectious and virulent. The plague of the one must become the plague of the many to gather the crowd of which it must unite. If the one cannot stand alone or rise up, it must crawl and dig. However, it cannot be the only one crawling and digging, for that would perpetually reveal unto itself, in undeniable acknowledgement, its crippled form and diseased state; and being in such a state, as falsely perceived in the dementia induced by its own irrational mind, would mean that others would have an ipso facto reason for elation in its own suffering, while simultaneously, it would remain deprived of the usage of the same excuse, vice versa, for its own joy and happiness. But, oh what joy, when everyone suffers, when everyone is sick and crippled, crawling and digging; for then, the pleasures and comfort of the septic crowd abound; the soothing warmth of the shared febrile state of unaccountability, the unity of mutual inescapable suffering and the inevitability to avoid communal fate. The world is turned upside down and the pathological brethren bond together in mutually assured torment, but nonetheless, torment that allows them, through their anguish, to ignore the simple fact that a healthy, content and blissful posture, and the choice of such a condition, the gift of God, is the proper state of existence. The expected liberties taken and sins afflicting and performed by one diseased mind, can then be so readily blamed upon another diseased mind, at the least, and perhaps, at best and preferred, blamed upon many, many afflicted minds. These targets are sighted so much more easily than those vigorous and serene, that posses the blinding reflection and unease of stability and appropriate empathetic awareness. These people of self-relative philosophy tell a tale of me, me, me and how scared shitless they are of anyone who is not a member of their infected crowd. They tell the tale of how frightened they are of the souls immune to their pathogen. They tell a tale of wanderlust at dropping souls via the plague of vermin.   

 

To be continued…

Cribb

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