London implosion


"Implosion" by Nelson Arts of London

I am deeply sorry, but today I shall expunge a few things on thee. And to do so, some questions are necessary. Today I see thee much better than four months ago. If thou askedst if there is regret, I might say yes, there is. For I have looked deep into thy eyes without knowing thee properly. And I have made such a commitment. Lord, I shouldn't have. I have given away my trust and my friendship with no doublethinking. I was fragile, I know. In a brave new world. But that was the moment I betrayed myself, for I thought I could be able to keep myself resolute and distant even in the loneliest moments. However, it was there, in this freezing solitude, that I've behaved as a child, and then I brought thee to my life, to my routine. Today I see thee differently. Well.

It vexes me the fact that thou art always lecturing somewhere about something, or art trying to teach everyone around, for I do not live with people like these. My friends are not like that. I don't put myself in this position, I never bring out any lecture on subject that I (may) master. Because I consider this extremely ridiculous. I understand that yes, indeed, everyone's got diverse kinds of knowledge, but we can only teach when somebody wants to learn. And when thou showest thy knowledge, talk'st on thy studies and wisdoms - it only shows a fail attempt. In the very beginning I thought it was arrogance. I reckoned thou wert considering thyself superior, wiser. Today I have pity on thee. For thou worriest too much with being noticed. Wantest to draw attention regardless the means. Wouldst like to be seen as relevant, strenuous (considering all thy endeavour thou hast shown to reach thy status), intelligent. Doest not thou see this is the wrong path? Doest not see that when thou pushest, thou makest us see exactly the opposite? But it is all okay now. I know thou likest to teach and give random lessons when no one's requested, I know it pleases thee to talk louder and to demonstrate thou art acquainted with some specific point more than the others. I wonder if thou hast observed how much people around do NOT do that. Hast thou seen how ones around thee, who yield knowledge beyond thou canst imagine, do not grab themselves? Hast thou seen it?

Today I see thee differently. I see thou art hard working. Thou hast limited abilities, though. Thou appliest thyself highly to the studies and hold'st information, but thou doest not know how to create. Thou art not imaginative, and this might bother thee more that I can figure. Thou mayest feel empty, incapable of innovation, incapable of leaving behind such an average existence. For that is what very haunts thee: the mediocrity. To live always in the middle. No creation, no cleverness, no originality. Yes, this is saddest. And maybe that is why thou behavest this way. But I will tell you what: I figure thee. Even knowing thou hast some limitations, some difficulties with reasoning and with the understanding of the world and the people that live in it, I get these pain and sorrow of thine. However thou must perceive something, my friend: not everybody is brilliant, but all should be humble. And when one is mediocre, it is needed to be humble.

Therefore we have struck enough. I can't bear this lack of humbleness anymore. To see the world spinning around thee. To wait for people to serve on thee. To think thou art somehow above, for thou knowest how to dress. All thy shallowness arises when thy only sentence in the mourning is asking me what I am wearing, or what have I thought about thy vesture. It drags me, it feels poor. Thou doest not provide an enhancing talk. Thou canst not add anything to people's lives. And that happens because thou doest not draw anything from anyone. Thou wouldst never enrich from one's experience, for thou canst learn from that. Thou art incapable of learning empirically. And what to say when thou triest to pull off that accent? Oh Lord, I think. Critizest me so much, soundest so laughable then! Thou canst force something thou hast not dominated yet. And when thou usest thy so-damn-acute smell to complain on someone or something's, it only blooms thy childish and spoiled sides. And it reduces thee to it: a child. Thou doest not act thy age.

But none of these things annoys me more than all the criticism and intolerance. Why canst thou tolerate the different? Why canst thou show respect to others' likings? Why doest not thou believe in people? What is so wrong with thee?

Answer me, why? Why doest thou find impossible that someone has a different style than thine? Why doest thou think that every man with the same condition as us shall be exactly like us? Canst thou see we are different? I am not better or worse, just different. And I couldn't understand when thou offendedest me so many times. It pleases thee to insult people. Thou art sick. And when thou feltest jealous? I had pity. For thou feltest thou hadest a strong and durable relation. Today I have only pity. I see how empty are all the relations of thine. I see how weak are the bonds thou buildest. And how nobody ever takes thee seriously. 

At last, I would like to say that thou hast made part of the most unpalatable category of people in the world: the braggers. Thou bragest about everything, every hour. And thou wantest to know what is worse? Thou canst not brag. It is painful when I see thou doing it.

And I remained shut. But today no more. Cause I've seen it is impossible to bear. It is impossible to love someone you hate.