Do you like stories? You do! I love stories. Stories are wonderful little lies we tell ourselves and to the world. The world is full of them. If you look closely you would see a pattern; Stories woven around stories, bigger ones, someone takes an excerpt from here and other and makes a new one.
Stories feel good. Imagine you not having balls. Imagine the whole world has balls. Imagine you the only one alone, in the dark, trying to feel something between your legs but you cannot. You try hard, then harder. Balls won’t grow back. They never do. Once you lose a pair of balls, there is no coming back. If you to a cosmetician to get a ball transplant, 96% of times your body would reject the foreign sack. Human body generally lack compatibility to foreign ligaments woven around a nut sack. You cry, in the dark. That feeling of disgust, that feeling, terrible feeling of not being accepted by people who look alike, breathe the same air, drink the same water. You feel depressed. For long, you stay that way. You do not let that feeling go. Then you decide to take revenge. You toil endlessly till the time, you become something, someone important, someone they look up to; A political leader maybe.
But everyone still knows you got no balls, your blood’s dried, and sheer emptiness lies within your legs. They all talk, everyone one talks, one to the other and other. He doesn’t have balls. It doesn’t feel good. You got two ways to deal with it.
#1. You call everyone. You hold them by their neck. They shout, they cry, you stuff ether in their nostrils and one by one you chop everyone’s balls off. You freeze them. You fill little sandwich plastic bags with frozen balls and courier it to their wives, in a package, titled, have a bright, sunny day! It’s brutal and it would work. Fear is a great tool for exerting control.
Either blood and sweat or you can tell stories. Yes. Stories.
#2. You call everyone and you stare into their eyes. Either you can use the soul gripping gaze. The one in which you stare so profoundly that within seconds your gaze turns into an iron spear and pierces the outer, turtle shell and catches hold of the inner chicken. The way magicians stare, the way barbers do, the ones who want to slit your throat while the blade grazes your thick weed of a beard on your neck. Or, you can do the callous gaze, the way saints do, you think it’s all true, you experience enlighten, little stories. World is full of stories. Small ones. Fancy tales. Impressive stuff!
You captivate them all and tell them about a night in a lonely Russian village. When you were a kid, growing up, with no food cause the politicians stole and Marxists starved. The jubilation of the capitalists! Their only enemy naked on the streets, eating shit, starving. Dogs in every street! Few ruffian bullies catch hold of you. They want your food. You got none. You were the eight person they caught hold of. You were unlucky. Seven were already let go. Frustration climbs up. They get mad. They want something. If you cannot produce food, they chop your balls. You cry, you sob, you pray to God. God is busy planning genocides, or maybe passed out. He has a lot of shit to deal with. You do not make his list. Not today, at least. Too bad for you. You lose something precious. 20 years later you grow up. Things change. You grow up. You grow up but your sack still feels empty. You try and feel them every morning, hoping for a miracle. Miracles do not happen. Mental illness is frequent in 21st century. Mother Teresa is dead. You lay hands on a toxic, biochemical. You are a kind-hearted person. You use minimum quantity doses. Enough to knock anyone and everyone out for few hours. Next morning an entire village wakes up with a feeling of emptiness. Manhood is gone. Women are crying in horror. Blood on white sheets, you feel special.
Stories, world’s full of them. Some are true. Some fiction. Belief is what made the existence of god possible. An invisible man, who knows, sees, does everything. He’s all powerful and shit but he needs money. God needs money, all your money. The most captivating story; Religion. Belief and a nice storyteller can make a new world. A world beyond gravity!
Enjoy you Sunday. I need to pray!