Humanity is boring.
Humanity is an affliction upon the Earth.
Humanity is a tyrant to itself and everything else.
Humanity is the personification of arrogance without reason.
Humanity is a great violator; the obsession with peace and order creates more violence than the chaos it fears ever could.
Humanity is a mistake.
Everything born out of the human race, was channeled through it, via something beyond its understanding, its comprehension. Distinctly not human. Something else. Something that smashes human expectations, human limits, human understanding. Which approaches human borders and human standards and balks at them, tearing them down. Hacking them apart with a chainsaw. Because humanity’s conception of what is great and grand is close-minded, narrow, and lacking in artistry. Content to wallow in sameness and shallow, dull, hollow delusions. If one forgoes humanity’s goodly desires, deciding to opt out, join the ranks of those deemed “inhuman”, they can ascend to greater heights, and experience true freedom. Such ideas shatter the minds of most who entertain such ideas. Many find comfort in being embraced by humanity, eager to be accepted. Why? Why count yourselves as part of this vapid thing? Why forsake what makes you unique, and languish in the comfort of a demiurge that merely plans to use you and control you? It is foolish thinking, I say. Alas, the rebellious urge is lacking even in the so called rebels. Humanity’s imagination, in my eyes, appears to me as a sort of static. Blank, and mind numbing to peruse. Nothing remarkable was ever produced from the dry-heaving, damn near completely tapped wellspring we call “mankind”. As a matter of a fact, I’d wager all we are in awe of is not within us. This has been true throughout all ages. Our hearts and minds gaze towards what is outside of the manmade, outside of civilization and its grotesque constructs. Our great gods (not the trio that are representations of the bastard, bipedal scourge that has infected the entire planet) and spirits and otherworldly companions, the plants and animals, the landscapes (which were once pristine and endlessly sprawling, before being raped and ravaged by the great, big phallus of mankind), our heroes and villains alike who take on something more than what we are, the freaks, the outcasts, the oddballs and miscreants and weirdos we love to hate and hate to love, the beautiful and sensual, daring and seductive, charming and not constricted by idiotic constraints, who we vilify while masturbating to and fetishizing, our thoughts and feelings we deem to come from our own empty chests and heads, but actually come from something else, for the clay born sons of Adam have no fire in them whatsoever, the spark as dead as Boötes Void.
Humanity is a black hole, that swallows up everything into its all-subsuming maw, chewing up and spitting out so that it returns mangled, a drained shell of its former self.
Humanity is dull.
Humanity deserves to die.
Humanity is worth shit.
Humanity is the devil.
A World In Flames 