How Much Can You Hate? Think.

For him, hate was something to be abhorred, something to be hated.

It didn’t matter who it was, or what it was. Hate was destructive and of no use whatsoever, even if it was being harnessed in order to accomplish something productive, because something built on hate could never leave a legacy behind. With time, it would come to be seen as something to be destroyed, exactly like hate. Who would want something built out of hate?

Hate was a killer, a cold-blooded murderer. The electro-chemical composition, that is, the exact mix of electrical impulses and brain chemicals required to conjure up the emotion called hate, differed from person to person, and he wondered if short-tempered people needed doses of electricity from time to time, to keep them level-headed.

He had had a very productive day.

He had slept for three and a half hours, but wasn’t feeling tired at all. As a matter of fact, he was thriving, heck, he was raging, but without hate. He could never hate. He had, once, many times, actually, and regrettably, regretted them now, for it had served no purpose at all, apart from seeding unwanted thoughts that sought to harm people physically and mentally. Sometimes, even fatally. His hate hadn’t caused any fatalities, but regrettably, he had come close, and to his relief now, other circumstances had materialized in time to ward off the poison from his mind.

He had no control over hateful thoughts. He could hate passionately, from a few seconds to many hours, and then, he could just let it go, let the thoughts simmer away, like swatting away an irksome fly that had the gall to contaminate what he ate lovingly, with his hands. He loved using his hands to eat food, especially when it was time to lick his fingers. Lately, he had just about managed to monitor a few thoughts that arose in his mind in addition to what caused that thought to occur.

Like the time, when his mind had suddenly switched from thinking about how to begin investing his wealth, to wondering aloud whether he needed to start eating more. Like the time when his mind had switched from thinking about enrolling in an online course to study the basics of personal nutrition, to placing an order on Amazon to buy a few books about finance and nutrition.

From imagining his chiseled body perched atop Mount Everest having an orgy, to a full scale riot where he had been leading thirty-three mobsters armed with machetes, axes, crowbars and gigantic spears that would induce fear in any mortal, human or animal or alien.

Sometimes, during an immense craving for cigarettes, he would imagine himself and his lover, gliding on plumes of smoke resembling clouds, carrying them from oases to valleys full of pine trees, while they serenaded atop, laughing at the stunned onlookers beneath. Forced to passively choke on the smoke that emanated from their means of movement, a few seemingly cigarette starved people, who lay beneath, lit up their cigarettes, as if to raise a toast to the couple gliding on smoke.

The primary reason for his large-heartedness, emerged from one single reason, the primary principle of liberalism, which spoke about live and let live, ascribing to the fact that all human beings were good people, with the so-called bad ones, just a product of their unfortunate circumstances, a mix of experiences that changed their outlook towards the world, a warped view that gave them an impetus, not to change back into their former good selves.

What would cause one to love the world one lived in?

Drugs without side-effects, amongst the many others. Sex, too.

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