Nov 2019
The point of games is to play, not win. Not many people realise that.
We don’t ask people to win with us. We want to win. Why should they? We ask people to play with us - so that they lose. All we care about is the triumph, the podium, the trophy. We are blind to those who watch from the sidelines. We are blind to those who stand in the shadows, waiting for us to slip off the stage.
Life is a game we are all playing. You’ll never know where you’ll land next. Some people find this thrilling. Others are too scared to move - they forfeit their turn. Because one wrong move might lead you straight to the devil.
Out of the corners of your eyes, you espy the people cheating. Their hands are empty... or so they seem. Fingers stained red from paper-cuts and stab wounds are hidden under sleeves of things that really aren’t theirs.
Those that are caught are sent straight to jail - you see a group of them huddling at the corner. Only a few manage to get a double roll - the others rot there for eternity.
Then you have the cliques. You are in one yourself. Uniform in uniforms. Groomed to perfection. Groomed to win. You have an anger, a slight enmity for the others, that tints your eyes red. You don’t know where this comes from.
There are the lost. The losing players, the already lost. They wander around like ghosts. You wonder why some of them are smiling. Why should they be?
You look up, and the casino called “Love” flares and glares in your eyes. You’re not allowed in yet. But you know what goes on inside.
Catcalls and shrieks are daily occurrences. They mix together to form simply a distraction. Some people walk out of the minigame with laughter and love. Others stay forever.
The rolling of dice clatters and clashes. You watch as cards fall, as cards slit throats, as cards splatter onto the ground. You watch the people you thought you knew turn into monsters of want and desire. You watch the blood-red eyes mock the world. You watch the floating castle in the sky, perfection encapsulated. You know it’s all fake. You watch falling stars crash and burn.
This is the rhythm of your game. Of your life. They tell you to stick to the rules. Play the game obediently. End it well. They say all of this with a huge curve on their lips.
It’s your turn to roll the dice. It’s your turn to play. It’s your turn to win.
We don’t ask people to win with us. We want to win. Why should they? We ask people to play with us - so that they lose. All we care about is the triumph, the podium, the trophy. We are blind to those who watch from the sidelines. We are blind to those who stand in the shadows, waiting for us to slip off the stage.
Life is a game we are all playing. You’ll never know where you’ll land next. Some people find this thrilling. Others are too scared to move - they forfeit their turn. Because one wrong move might lead you straight to the devil.
Out of the corners of your eyes, you espy the people cheating. Their hands are empty... or so they seem. Fingers stained red from paper-cuts and stab wounds are hidden under sleeves of things that really aren’t theirs.
Those that are caught are sent straight to jail - you see a group of them huddling at the corner. Only a few manage to get a double roll - the others rot there for eternity.
Then you have the cliques. You are in one yourself. Uniform in uniforms. Groomed to perfection. Groomed to win. You have an anger, a slight enmity for the others, that tints your eyes red. You don’t know where this comes from.
There are the lost. The losing players, the already lost. They wander around like ghosts. You wonder why some of them are smiling. Why should they be?
You look up, and the casino called “Love” flares and glares in your eyes. You’re not allowed in yet. But you know what goes on inside.
Catcalls and shrieks are daily occurrences. They mix together to form simply a distraction. Some people walk out of the minigame with laughter and love. Others stay forever.
The rolling of dice clatters and clashes. You watch as cards fall, as cards slit throats, as cards splatter onto the ground. You watch the people you thought you knew turn into monsters of want and desire. You watch the blood-red eyes mock the world. You watch the floating castle in the sky, perfection encapsulated. You know it’s all fake. You watch falling stars crash and burn.
This is the rhythm of your game. Of your life. They tell you to stick to the rules. Play the game obediently. End it well. They say all of this with a huge curve on their lips.
It’s your turn to roll the dice. It’s your turn to play. It’s your turn to win.
Some squabble from the corners of my mind.
How do you play? Are you cheating? Are you playing dead? Are you dead already?
How do you play? Are you cheating? Are you playing dead? Are you dead already?
