Hate.

Evolving of hating during the Covid -19

For a year I kept on the dekstop of my computer a white file entitled “new article”, a whole year to turn around without the slightest interest in filling it. I never considered it a literary work or an abstract, it was and remains a blank sheet. It helped me analyze the composition of my person by defining it as a cube with smooth and soft facades, without bones or eyes, legs or other essential details to define me human. I hate being a human and even more like being a cube.

And here I discovered my seventh side, a part too important to be invisible. Hate.
I discovered it almost by accident while I hated something not important in my life, another human also committed to hating. In recent months it has become as deep a constant as going in search of a goal to hate. Someone or something different, impossible to understand, indifferent to my hatred, bare of ideals or ideas. This constant has cost me almost thirty years of personal instability but with a perfectly calculable ability and perfected in the search for an unstable like me capable of hating me for my haircut, for my idea of personal understanding, or for a religion that I do not follow deeply.

Hate is personal just like a love that ended badly, hatred is liberation, observation, bargaining, minimal empathy so much that you know the small things of life. Hate is an infinitesimal part of happiness and love itself. It is part of us, it is the fertilizer for a solid love, for a democratic society, for a nationalist party, a Catholic society to the core, for a sect of exhausted people who demand the undressing of personal goods. Hatred does not allow us to reason and makes us lose track of the importance of science. Hate is the unhealthy idea of how much a politician is really right only if his voice comes out screaming from a microphone. Hatred is mephistophelic, it is indignation sponsored by a dystopian intellect, a beating heart of empathy and regressive envy; it is the realization that some things in our lives revolve around a single and strong feeling of hatred miscellared of so many other things that do not have so much importance. “I hate” is as good as “I love.” The first we whisper between the hidden ideas of Nazism and imperfect totalitarianism, the second we would like to shout it to the person we do not know and who lives on the balcony next door and is trying to survive the COVID-19.
My hatred has turned into pure imagination and mood changes given by quarantine but I do not hate those who forced me to stay safe inside four narrow walls of the house, I hate all those I have not seen for two months. I imagine them, those few enemies I’ve made myself and all the others I usually give very little importance to now have become prime numbers on my list of hated. Quarantine also serves to reflect, it serves me to hate and the list has only increased these days. VIPs, youtuber, influencers, relatives and snakes from the human form. My imagination has favored the crawling of these beings under the door of my house bringing them directly to my attention. Their sling to my ears has strengthened my idea of hate, made it powerful, personal and determined. I became the mass of skin-pink hate that stirs in the walls of my house bouncing from one social media account to another, speculating the great evil that the liberation from the quarantine had then thrown into the street.

There is no solution to hatred, it will reappear with great force whenever you want to drive him away, but it will be the clearest example of humanity, the possibility of figuring out when to stop, when to take off the sweater used for more than three months, the smelly jogging pants of Swedish furniture. The mattress or sofa from the concava curve are made of hate like all the utensils in the house that I started using. They are all pieces of the puzzle that does not taste crazy but simple normality. What I wasn’t used to became normal. Paranoia and anxiety have degenerated by fighting each other like two young cousins who at Christmas get beat under the table of the greats and hatred as an old uncle married and then divorced sat at the head of the table to recite the prayer.

I hate the new movies that are too organized and all the new songs, the cheap actors.
I hate the pathetic people who brag about the things they own, the idolaters, the fanatics, the fixers, the maniacs of the order and those of disorder.
I hate my father and mother that if they didn’t die they’d live with me or me with them.
I hate distant relatives and those too close, I hate my neighbors with their ideals and the paranoids who climb over balconies and come to visit me.
I hate the Covid-19 who arrived in an era of too much happy, if he had arrived in the middle evo no one would make a drama of it.
I hate the happiness that has given us moll, weak and sick.
I hate Christmas that doesn’t have that sense of spontaneity anymore.
I hate modern loves that know about sexual stupidity.
I hate myself for being able to find a solution to constant hatred.
Amen.

I shake hands with everyone I’ve hated and I don’t stop hating, I certainly don’t apologize, there would be no need. I’m here in front of a screen displaying surname names similarities to other unknown faces of this great super social world of which we are a part. It’s amazing and remarkable how much we look like each other, if I scroll through the photos of everyone I don’t know I can review the last thirty and pass years of knowledge.
8 billion humans and all we do is chase after us to look like each other. A photo is worth a thousand words and a selfie is worth nothing. Ok I decided, I withdraw my hand and I consider hating the whole world, it’s much easier and more generic than scrolling through a million-page long, absolutely pathetic pages like those of the best-known influencers with as many millions of pathetic followers to the marrow.
I hate them for such a personal reason that it has become my religion. I am locked inside a narrow house and all my connection is an image or a video of someone who until now has lived his existence, brazenly, showing everything of himself, so much that now I have vomit. Because of them, my fault, I don’t want to look at anyone inside a cell phone screen anymore. Hatred at the end of the day, like this quarantine made me realize how stupidly I lived basing each of my knowledge on 12 inches of magnitude.

I’ve thought about it, I’m holding my hand, and instead of the classic “pleasure to meet you,” I say “Pleasure to hate you.”
I’m going to lock her up here before someone gets to hate me more than I can.