Did I Tell You?

Everyone who hates me must die.

Isn't that how you operate?

I can't have people walking around with hatred in their hearts directed at me. It is impractical. And dangerous.

However, in my situation, the solution is problematic. Because everybody hates me.

How did I get here?

I don't know how it happened, I don't know why. But I can see it. I can feel it. Every time I leave the house. And sometimes when I don't.

People staring at me, glaring at me really, with malicious intent. Some people stop me on the street - complete strangers - look me in the eye - and tell me they hate me. Just like that. And then walk on.

I am a nice guy. At least I used to be. I mean, I treat people well - give them full on empathy, listen to them intently while I am thinking "What a fucking moron you are - your life is insignificant and expendable." But apparently I am giving off some kind of negative vibe, an invisible but detectable signal that my heart is filled with poison, my brain with hatred.

When I was younger everybody loved me. Probably because I was not yet fully formed, not yet twisted by life's bizarre sense of justice and vengeance. I was pristine, as pure as the driven snow, my heart was open, my mind was free and laughter came easily.

Now I am somewhat guarded. There are those who claim I am bitter.

It is not bitterness - it is maturity. At some point you understand life within the framework of the mistakes that you have made, and the lights go out. I mean, you keep moving, keep on working, producing, paying the bills, smiling an Oscar worthy smile, but your truth exists deep within and it ain't pretty.

I used to distribute intense love beams of empathy and be greeted in return by the kisses of women and genuflection of men. Now I shoot out what feel to me like those same beams and I am greeted with punches, kicks, derision and projectile saliva.

I don't get it.

An intelligent man told me that internal death cannot be hidden, that it colors every form of communication - verbal, emotional, body language, silent connection. He said once you die inside that fact cannot be hidden. People sense it in the same way cadaver dogs locate decomposing human flesh.

But everybody is dead inside, no? So aren't we all doing the same thing, putting on the same play?  Well, except for you pretentious pricks who drive Porsches and gloat over well stocked retirement funds.

Even though most of us are on the same page, still, we viciously attack when we can. Punches, kicks, derision and projectile saliva. The delicious irony of being human.

Anyway, these people gotta go. They must be eliminated with extreme prejudice. Must be removed from my life, diverted from the path I walk so I can march undeterred to Hell.

I am excited for the challenge. It will give me something to do.

Did I tell you I am "semi" retired?