American History / Wicked Virtuoso In Your Shadow
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Autor: anton 12 December 2010
Words: 740 | Pages: 3
Wicked Virtuoso In Your Shadow By: Amerah Asleah â€œ AAâ€ Baniaga Tago
Oh, p-leez, gimme a break, so what if I say wicked? Or evil is more appropriate? And stop those scrutinizing brows; this is of no inept revelation. And why begin it as eloquently as this is? Simple. Arrogance and hypocrisy within the breeze of air that surrounds me is as callous as they are overwhelmingly alluring and good-looking. Yes, I speak of a sheep in a wolfâ€™s clothing, a metaphor you wish not to plummet into nor be one of its allies. Nor do I. Not in a million years. Beware, on land, on moon, on space, the wicked paranoia may never come as a visible being but in a tacit, truculent silence, like a shadow lurking behind your every step. Some maybe inopportune as they are empirical and wise for I myself bushwhacked few of them, catching the drift, turning my back, and kindly letting them live their crazed life, hearing things but letting it out of my system the second it hits me. So, I was born with it, the so-called intellectually vital vision and outstanding senses. I sense the real, the fake, the filthy. I sense which has heart, which has not. When you are a Virgo as the writer is, you are one with the nature; you are a virgin who symbolizes purity of the mind- the ability to grasp things logically. What others say has never staunched me, never trampled me, never put me down. Sheep in a wolfâ€™s clothing- more of an ethnic joke than a human being. Jogging up my memories, the bad ones have all but not vanished. But these made me stronger like my Shihanâ€™s innate and apparent strength. Fear never reverberates through me, slap me and Iâ€™ll break your nose, hurt me and youâ€™ll wish you we never alive. So here goes nothing- I am a girl, a powerful femininity flows through me, a strong spirit, a determination as strong as Malcolm Xâ€™s and a mind as clear as a tranquil Black Sea. Never fear, never hesitate, speak out and be heard, let no wolf clothing scare you. Then there goes the pin-pointer- who points his faults to others. This person is in need of a mirror to reflect the real self- for a wide awakening. A snide attitude toward every little peccadillo he assumes are others but is truly his. He needs to study European suavity or even better- learn to pinch himself- to feel he is at loss, and in need of moral repair. He claims to be perfect but God knows how many volumes of books his sins can be transformed. His ego is impulsive, arrogant and selfish. He says you should be punished for a fault but open that mouth, spell D-E-F-E-N-S-E. Corner him at angles and watch him teeter on the verge of nervous disintegration. Yup, they need to be spanked on the butt to learn. They are indifferently inhumane and doesnâ€™t know the difference between good and bad- or better be- sinful and not. Break that glass! Shutter it into pieces!â€ Nopeâ€ the boy cried, â€it cannot be, its plasticâ€. What? Yes, a plastic, i.e. a pretender. I chortle and smile, raised my hand and said, â€œ Yup, Iâ€™ve crossed paths with these types of people. Looming out there, at the most expensive bars and mallsâ€, but hey wait, donâ€™t they depict the â€œSCâ€ types. Others are those who conceal the horns and vampire teeth- eventually looking as picture perfect as Maria Clara. Ummâ€¦Iâ€™m in a reality vertigoâ€¦Everyone is wooingly attracted to his character but at the end of the day, he looks quite the buffoon for having ramped a charade of fake. As my brothers say â€œJapekes ka!â€ (utot). With time, the cover will peel, will wane and bees no more pay visit. So never be as perverse as they are, be yourself- a totally moral rectitude, and an unending beautiful scent will bloom you into a wonderful person inside out. A simple paradigm of wicked virtuosos, having the vaguest nuances yet rotting seeds. And you know what, I despise them, as with Billions of people do. Never have I been a member of their species. I am real, as real as Bushâ€™s presidential victory, as the Falluja on the brink, or the much hullabaloo of red and blue US states in contrast. Glad my mom raised me well. Enough said.
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