Today, you decide to become a victim, hoping to get some sympathy, maybe even a little bit of love. And that's OK. It would be OK, if in order to achieve that you didn't have to kill of a part of you that's saying: "I'm OK, I like my life, I'm happy" You can't have that if you are going to be a successful victim, so you just shut it up. Kill it off.
Tomorrow, you'll decide to be a successful businessman. So you'll have to kill off the victim, and the generous, compassionate guy, and the guy who loves little fuzzy animals, because you can't have them living in your head if you are going to be a business mogul. Bang - they're dead.
A day after that, you decide to become a mother. Bang - bang - there goes the little slut you liked yourself so much as, and the irresponsible little twit, and the self absorbed, careless little bitch everybody loved hating. Forget about them, you're a mother now, bang - bang.
And then, a few days later, your kids are all grown up, your bank account is loaded, your hair is getting gray,and the hole left inside you, shaped like all the people you have killed is getting seriously big, so you decide that you are old. An so you kill off the few people that have managed to survive inside you - The mother - bang - she was shot the day your kids moved out of the house. The businessman - bang - he died the day you retired. The guy who liked laughing - bang - dies the day you decide to become a bitter old man, mad about the life he's wasted. The dancer, the reader, the singer, the philosopher - bang - bang - bang - they are all dead once you decide you are too old to try, too old to care.
And finally on your last day, you menage to squeeze that last little bang out off your old, warn out self in order to kill off the last trace of life inside you. Finally free to achieve... What?
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