hooglebug

What strange things they are. Do you see? It takes blood away from his insides to keep up with the beating of his heart. It makes his insides flutter and his head dizzy. Look how crazy it makes them; all that pain.

They call it love. They crave it.

Strange things indeed, these humans.

But look at all the colours down there. Its so bright; so vivid. How can they ever be any less than cheerful down there? All those pretty things to look at, all the sounds and smells and tastes. What a pleasure to live. And what a chore they make of it. What a waste.
If that was me Id lay on that green grass, looking up at that blue sky, listening to those twittering little creatures making their song, and let myself drift away, day after day. Endless pleasure. Endless peace.

And look at them. All that anger and hatred and loathing and jealousy. And that dangerous thing they have. That love. Sometimes it works and it makes them happy. But it seems they need to have love together, otherwise it doesnt work. And it makes them crazy. It turns them into that. That thing youre looking at now, thats love when it doesnt work.

Isnt it ugly? It doesnt look like the blue sky and green grass. Not pretty at all.