Earth. Our creator, our provider, our mother. Everything we have we owe to her. Everything. Still, I cannot restrain the profound contempt that stirs deep within me for her. Allowing a species existence that shows her nothing but scorn and mockery, for her creatures, for her creations. These humans, mother, these despicable life forms that spawn from your very bounty. So afraid to die but not to kill. So eager to take but not to give. How long, mother, how long will you tolerate your wayward children?
Fellow earthlings hang. Excited hearts now pump faintly their last drops of life as blood flows a river inside the abattoir. White-robed overlords oversee with heartless glee the demand the people place upon them.
It’s what humans do. I get it, now.
The government gets it. Man, do they ever.
Hunters, anglers, trappers all get it, and they get it well.
Every flesh-eater gets it; they cause it, abnormally so, and to their liking.
The slaughterhouse business is a boom, and they get, and take it all the way to the bank, who gets it.
The prison system gets it, with itchy fingers can’t wait.
Cops and soldiers get it, they signed up to get it.
Kill. Kill. Kill, for fuck’s sake.
It’s everywhere, and it’s 24/7/365.25.
No big deal, right? I get it.
But hey, let a news story break, a tragic accident, a natural catastrophe, shooting, people killed, animals hurt. An empathetic twinkle sparks inside an otherwise numb-skull, and suddenly the Androids get all emotional, teary eyed. Heartfelt.
What the hell?
Somebody got killed.
Nobody. That’s who.
After their obligatory sorrow drowns in its evanescent grief, everything’s hunky-dory. Enervated emotions are restored. Now back to the business of kill and let kill until the next spate of death hits the public airwaves. Then guess what? Suddenly sparked, fleeting superficialities ignite once again with an emasculated flare-up.
Why bother with silly transitory sentiment?
It’s what humans do, by fuck. They KILL!
Killing, a tradition we can’t live without, by participating within.
Psychopathy is an equal opportunity debasement. Spawned in every shape, size, and social order while infesting every sphere of human involvement. But fortunately not every human.
Among the top of the psychopathic pecking order, you’ll find the redneck, dimwitted hunter, trapper, angler. Just one small, nearly imperceptible prick below the ruling elite in psychotic potential.
To murder any non-threatening, innocent earthling struggling to survive among the infestation of humanity requires a psychopathic reasoning.
Killing is deplorable.
It is a violent, heinous act of delusion, hate, irreverence, and war. It is the last resort to an extreme adversity, at very best.
To view hunting, trapping, angling as a sport is the twisted logic of a psychopath, a madman. Or, as is often the case, a madwoman.
Participation in a so-called sport by so-called sportsmen where the odds are so incredibly overwhelming that there exists no possibility of failure, no threat of defeat, no risk of life or limb, where then is the thrill, the excitement, the challenge of the game?
There isn’t any.
It’s all a coward’s sadistic amusement, a psychopath’s recreation.
About 250 species of animals are carnivores, a minuscule number to the whole.
We call these animals, predators. They are a beneficial lot whose actions sustain an ecological balance. Unlike the human who too holds the distinction as a predator, albeit better defined as an insane predator, whose senseless, needless killing is nothing short of murder. And whose very existence is hostile to aiding any semblance of environmental harmony.
Let’s compare the two, the sane to an insane predator, to better understand their differences.
While the animal predator is quick to kill their prey, the human predator is a malicious creature whose selfish demand keeps their prey prisoner, caged, confined, and tortured, and often for years before brutally dispatched.
While the animal predator has no interest in a theatrical production of their kill, the human — Hunter and gourmand alike — conceited and vainglorious model beside their fresh-kill or their gluttonous feast for stills and videos to later gloat and brag to posterity, or to any who pretend to lend an ear.
Further, some make trophies of the dead carcasses or dismembered parts thereof and set them on exhibit to further inflate their bloated egos. It’s called compensating, an effort to mask their deficiencies as a natural predator and the diversion of their sexual inadequacy.
The animal predator is by nature equipped to capture prey and consume it raw. Not so with the insane predator whose slowness, dull senses, and lesser agility requires weapons, snares, traps, and cowardly underhanded tactics, and the flesh he desires to devour must be properly treated and cooked to make palatable and safe for his consumption. Despite this, the insane predator fights an endless battle with excessive protein intake, digestive maladies, heartburn, constipation, indigestion, obesity, and disease.
While the animal predator kills to live, the human predator lives to kill or has his victims slain by another; this is his so-called sport, a bloodlust excitement. Possessed with an obsession to murder that he not only commits against the vulnerable but also upon his species.
Yes, some animals eat other animals. However, the highly evolved and keenly aware human animal declines any participation.
Conscientious human beings should not limit their consciousness to matters of survival. This blog empowers those with conscience whilst enhancing the conscious. It is my mission to prove that my most bitter enemies are my friends. If I achieve that in life, I have been truly human.