Dear Mr. Monkzo

Kame colour VI 1995 by Emily Kame Kngwarreye

Dear Mr. Monko,

My hatred for you grows stronger everyday. You have defiled my old ways of thinking and turned me into a peace advocate. Because you have helped purify me from my rotten past, my body has been craving the good stuff like water and greens. In other words, you have turned me into a hippie. Being nice makes me itch. It makes me want to think less of myself and be more involved in our dying country's affairs. I feel very inauthentic for just thinking like that. I feel like I'm betraying my moral code. Just kidding, I don't really follow any codes nor guidelines to best live life unlike other people on social media who likes red and green flagging romantic relationships. Ew. Anyway, most days, I feel like sabotaging my "progress". Yes, what others call "progress", I call decay. It still feels very awkward to explore these nice sides of me maybe because, in the past, I have been heavily invested in condemning myself to hell. I always thought of hell as home, some place where I can meet interesting people like Darwin, Tesla, Plath, Woolf, Austen, Lawrence, Céline, Nin, Flaubert,Wilde, Huxley, Hemmingway, and even Hendrix and Morrison. I still do prefer their company over Mother Teresa or Gandhi who most likely ended up in heaven. Or maybe I've been looking at the polar opposites wrongly. All the above-mentioned people are "extremes" while most fall into the category of the "not so extreme." And who am I kidding? I doubt there really is heaven and hell. In fact, the current state of the world feels more like a hellish place. So maybe earth is what we make of it. And maybe the question we should really be asking ourselves is, "What do I really want to make of it?" If I turn evil again, all the many evils in the world will just nullify my existence. For the time being, I'd like to continue to explore these nice parts of me and, instead, try to counteract the existence of the evils so in the future, when all evils have died, I can strike back again. Ha ha.

Eternally yours,

Slikx