In Vino Veritas

What is it that sometimes leads me into feeling superior to the people i see on the street?
today i walked from my mom to a party, listening to music, drivin in the sub, walkin again... and every time i met somebodys eyes i had this little pitying smile on my lips which i love so much, this arrogant look in my eyes saying "awww poor little human, do you feel lost? you're gonna die soon anyway"

not that i feel immortal, hell no, i'm (to my pity honestly) totally aware of the fact that i'm gonna die. i just feel... superior.

than i stepped into this party... seeing people who drank a lot, who talked to people with a smile on their face and when turning around lookin disgusted like they smelled dead animal.

and again i felt superior. those people play these silly little games people play, trying to win in life. but compared to me they are not aware of it. these little polite smiles you give to persons, the moments you help people you don't like... and you're saying to yourself "i'm just helping". and why? because you feel better than, you feel superior.

and me? sometimes i play these games. sometimes i don't recognise it. but most of the time... WHEN i play it i WANT to play it.

i help people i like. there there are also moments when i say: "listen, i can't answer right now because i might say something we both can't excuse". whoever hear this sentence from me can consider himself as by me seen as a friend.

i also help people i don't like. when i see an advantage for myself. not by saying "i'm such a good person blabla" but by knowing this person can do something for me in return. i call it the bank of complimentary (the words are stolen from coelho). i pay some time in and get something in return. PERIOD. nothing more. nothing less.

then there are people i don't like... who try to push me away from something i do like. who even might not know that they do so.

they play games. games which they will lose. because they just see the person they want to *destroy*. i see the game, the way... and i feel sorry for them and just stop the game. taking the step out. leaving the scene.

it's not running away. it's being fully aware of what is happening with me when i take part at the games the others play. i will become like them. and i don't want that.

why?

there are plenty of them.

but i am who i am. and not what they are.

so =) go, play your silly games, you game players out there. be happy about winning. be sad about losing. i tell you a secret. come closer. real close.

you will die, no matter how many games you won or lost.

and on my deathbed i won't count the fights i fought to win over somebody. but the fights i fought with myself to stay who i am. not how you want me.

good night and sweet dreams drinkers, fighters, losers, winners... and the few... handfull of people i consider as friends. may you always be aware of the honor to be my friends. i will tell you the truth. i will tell you what i think about your doing. honestly. and if i don't... it's just because i don't want to hurt you, i don't want to tell you the things your heart tells you already minute by minute day by day.



There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable... I simply am not there.