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Its a theme, not so common these days, in writing. Because people pretty much stopped reading books, in favor of video centric technology driven story writing. I find myself living... A trope in a sense. Brought down by the pressure of society through the strong arm of mutual agreement using teamwork to oppress an individual who seeks to live differently than others care to live, or simply is forced to live differently than others care to acknowledge due to their own lives having a different trajectory which did not lead them to where I was led.

The corona virus was just another step in the direction to lead the masses down a path. A direction I didn't take. A direction I couldn't take. A direction that led me to have a lot of opposition with men and women of great power who happen to rule the masses through their habits which have been formed over time, step by step. These habits have rewarded them with things to attach to. The attachment means that they are easily convinced to take a side, for they do not wish to lose what they personally have attained. But they are climbing a tree. At the top of the tree are leaves. That is the point of which they grow leaves. That's me. I turned my back to society hence leaving it. If they want to attach to me and grow me on their tree, I have to live like a leaf. Not a branch. Not a trunk. Not a root. But a leaf. A leaf is exposed mostly to the wind. Its most easily able to fall off the tree. It changes based on the time of year. It absorbs from the sun.

But money doesn't grow on trees. If im to make money, I can't do what everybody else did. I can't plant myself in the dirt. I can lay in the dirt but im not going to be planted. People dont plant trees anymore so nobody is after my seed. Im an outlier. And when I seek any retribution, pursue any passion, or provoke any sin, I am victimized by fate. The powers from the top to the bottom which force me to surrender to the will of others. My resistance is futile. The freedom I feel from being locked outside matches the levels of freedom I felt from being locked in prison. There are bars around me. I just don't see them. These bars only cause tension. If I run from them, they catch up to me. I can't hide. Thus, my only freedom is in other people. For my sanctuary is but an illusion. Walls of energy.

My instinctual stacking is Sx Sp So. To bond with others in a highly personal way is my primary instinct. This has led me to a place in which I could thrive before. And the cruel manipulation of powers has separated me from those of whom I had attached to. Thus I became... Alone.

My next instinct was self preservation. Though I was alone i still had to live. I was fuelled by my desire to stay alive despite the amount of sustainability i had. I went into warrior mode. I became an alpha wolf. A hunter. I let my own passions for being an animal loose, and it got me from day to day through the pain and rain. I was hungry. So I sought fuel. But once again, society had stabbed me in the back. I wasn't human to them. I was scary. A threat. A threat to their power they had established. A threat to their families they had attached to. A threat to their lives they had built. A threat to the culture in which they had grown accustomed to. They teamed up on me once again and put me down like a rabid animal. Forcing me once again to submit.

That leads to my third instinct. My blind spot. The social instinct. I'm constantly now thrown for a loop. The sheer power of people in large quantities all going about their days and lives. They decide what to do with me. They decide where I go. If I submit im weak. If I fight back I lose. Thus I go even deeper into myself. I live in a world of my own in a world of illusion in a world taken from me. To take my world back would mean overcoming the depths of my internal world, overcoming traps of the illusory world, finding my world and taking her back.

And they knew I could do this. So they killed her. The life I wanted to take back... Gone forever.

So what world is there to live in anymore. And, if the Gods hate me so, what point is there in finding it - knowing it would be stripped from me. For the sole purpose of hurting me. Should I let them hurt me by hurting others. Or should I stay a lone man, bewildered and forgotten, drowning in marianas trench. My own suffering and pain merely a comfort in the sense I know those who i would have or could have loved are not suffering. A hero. Though the apparent contradiction of those I love or could love not loving me at all. For the sole purpose of their selfish pursuits being fulfilled and mine going once again unfulfilled. If they are so selfish as to hurt me, are they really worth being a hero for?

Where do i go from here. And why. I have no instinct guiding me, just the cruel instincts of others around me "teaching" me what's good. My only pleasure is theirs. But at the same time, if what's good is outside of me... And not me... Then I'm simply a loser.

Oh well.
 

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"But money doesn't grow on trees. If im to make money, I can't do what everybody else did. I can't plant myself in the dirt. I can lay in the dirt but im not going to be planted. People dont plant trees anymore so nobody is after my seed. Im an outlier. And when I seek any retribution, pursue any passion, or provoke any sin, I am victimized by fate. The powers from the top to the bottom which force me to surrender to the will of others. My resistance is futile. The freedom I feel from being locked outside matches the levels of freedom I felt from being locked in prison. There are bars around me. I just don't see them. These bars only cause tension. If I run from them, they catch up to me. I can't hide. Thus, my only freedom is in other people. For my sanctuary is but an illusion. Walls of energy. "

That is a damn good piece of writing. You should consider being a writer of sorts, maybe online news, maybe an author.
 

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"But money doesn't grow on trees. If im to make money, I can't do what everybody else did. I can't plant myself in the dirt. I can lay in the dirt but im not going to be planted. People dont plant trees anymore so nobody is after my seed. Im an outlier. And when I seek any retribution, pursue any passion, or provoke any sin, I am victimized by fate. The powers from the top to the bottom which force me to surrender to the will of others. My resistance is futile. The freedom I feel from being locked outside matches the levels of freedom I felt from being locked in prison. There are bars around me. I just don't see them. These bars only cause tension. If I run from them, they catch up to me. I can't hide. Thus, my only freedom is in other people. For my sanctuary is but an illusion. Walls of energy. "

That is a damn good piece of writing. You should consider being a writer of sorts, maybe online news, maybe an author.
Yeah maybe. The last 12 line poem I wrote to a friend in the marine corps whose father had died - paying respects - had inspired a 1200 check to the nation. So it DID technically make me money.

But it isn't work. Just masturbatory writing in the end.
 
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