I have 10 minutes to rant and will make the best of out it. I’m so awfully disappointed in you.


I live in a garden, with flowers. But they turn nasty at times. Sometimes they grow thorns, sometimes, they just stand there, perched high up there, pride held high, but wilt eventually. One day, I just take up this job as a gardener, naturally it seems.


You see why gardeners are the only sane people on earth is because a flower is but a flower to them and gardens are just places with flower in the plural form. No obscurities whatsoever.


This flower might have a few more thorns than that, this one might be bug-infested or literally serve as feed to the birds and caterpillars but they are just flowers aren’t they? Nothing much to worry about.


Maybe one day the thorns might just grow wild and bugs might share buds 10:1 but at the end of the day, flowers are but flowers, no matter how spoilt, how ruined, how infested they are.


What should I do?


I swear I’ll never spray disinfectant over the plot and call it a day, for even though flowers are but flowers, there different species, different variations between them and each deserve different treatments and care from another.


So what do we do?


Should we cut the thorns out one by one and allow them to grow back in apathy? Or remove the bugs one by one and dump them somewhere where the sun won’t shine and the next day see them crawling back in earnest again?


What a tedious job.


I say, the above is just crap, they really are. I do things because I believe in them, flowers grow under the hands of the gardeners and however wild they are, they are still flowers and we are still gardeners, can the former consume the latter?


I think not.


Even carnivorous ones by their standards are but just a thin stem that we could severe and end their growth, permanently essentially. Everything is in your hands really just that we tend to doubt and question at times.




That’s the only word man, in this whole world full o’ crap. Things thrive under it. My flowers grow astray with the wind or wilts if one decides to die and rot there in front of its peers. How very irresponsible eh?


Just tell them, flowers are but flowers, man are but man. Whatever you are, you are you, what can you do, what can I do, what can we do?




The only thing that holds up the skies, but no one really thinks about it. One day, I’ll murder, I’ll screw, I’ll cook, I’ll shuff a knife in those who lacks this word. YOU SUCK.


You flower, Beauty isn’t everything, you know, you Flower bastard. Life is too short for Youth. Why can’t you bond, accept the others?


Why the Revolution?


Why the Sensation?


Why think Special?


Why can’t you think?


Why can’t you understand?


How the gardeners and the Flowers are suffering because of you?


Evil. Why did you let it in? Now you’re nothing more than a weed. I’m so terribly disappointed and the thing is that we can do nothing? Is life really that hard? Think, don’t think, Accept that fucking shit.


You are the Death of Life.