Walli – Chapter 11: The Inferno

Congratulations. We’ve made it this far into 2025. Through pain. Through misery. Being pathetic. Being miserable. Being the scum of the universe. With the same consistent tragedy since 2014.

Yes, there was a breakthrough. In December 2015 that lasted till June 2016. But who shall answer and who should be punished for the sin committed uninterrupted from August 2014 to December 2015?  

If I wish to drag you for 17 months to eternal abomination, will you understand that?

Will you get my urge to do that?

Will you relate to the gratification I would taste then?

Will I attain nirvana afterwards?

Will I be God then?

I object.

Yet, I pronounce you all to eternal punishment in the ultimate hellfire. You do get that need of God? When He can burn, and He shall. Why not burn you all forever and ever and ever when He can? What else would He like to do?  

Divine Deviations. Like Revelations.

Who shall we hang now? For 2016 to 2025? And how? Hang till death yet death unpermitted and a body jolting by the tight rope forever. And ever. And ever?

God punishing his creation, humans.

All other creations serving humans, being slaughtered in millions everyday.

Then God judging humans on bestowed pain and misery.

Then God deciding the fate on missteps taken during tragic times.

Then…

I object.

Change the subject. God is dead.

No, He isn’t. The one who wasn’t born can’t die.

That’s your creation.

Humans punishing their creation, God.

Hanged. Punished. Buried. Then what? Who shall bring back the decade of alienation? Who should be punished eternally? For whom shall I ignite the fiercest fires of the inferno that I have made in a parallel universe?

You thought I was sitting idle? No. I plan and make heavens. Then I renovate them into purgatories. And then I bestow my final artistry of transforming them into infernos. What else could I do?

To whom this finest inferno may concern. To whom? Imagine your ‘Sabr’ tested by ‘Sabirs’ – relentlessly – for over a decade.

But then, things aren’t beautiful anywhere else too. See your own miserable existence. See the children being butchered. The civilizations being evaporated. The bombs being dropped over cities. The missiles striking hospitals. Ambulances being ambushed. Children dying of AIDS. ICUs of hospitals getting short of beds.

And blood.

Murder. Murders. Mass murders. Genocide. War. Wars. So much blood in streets, on TV screens. Still shortage of blood. Everyone is asking for blood. More blood donation. Need more. Want more. Bleed more. Save more.  

Save more? Lives!

Why don’t your patients die in peace? Why don’t you let them go? Why do you cling them back to this life? Is it your selfishness that you want the sick patient to stay in your life? Just because you’ll miss them. Pain of distance. Distant pain. Or is it about the unknown world ahead we all don’t know about.

Oh, you know. You do. You know everything about hereafter. Fine. Then let them go. Let them be free of this body, this world, this misery, this pain, these medicines, these wards, these circus of blood donations. Let them die.

Let your parents die. Let your children die. Let your siblings die too. Why do you raise children clearly knowing that they will suffer. Why don’t you wish them peaceful death at an early age so they may sleep in peace among their toys and colorful dreams?

You won’t. You can’t. Even when you know the ultimate truths of life, you bring and raise children and you love them and hug them and inhale them and bring to them whatever you can only to leave them in the unlivable world afterwards – where these children must transform themselves into evil giants to survive.

Your every decision – in any direction – a misdirection.

Those who die in hospitals suffer more than those who die in a drone attack. Those who get a direct bullet shot in brain suffer far less than those incubated in air-conditioned private room. Twenty instant deaths in bomb blasts have a cumulative less suffering than those who are wounded in the same blast and tend to live for some decades.

We know that. Yet, we ignore that. We choose pain. Intentionally. What we see is all we know. What we don’t see is a horror story of a more painful eternal life. Even with all the beliefs, blind following, no questions and no answers; we have sincere doubts.

With the minimum words and without a book, if I may have made the point about suffering enough – I hope you may suffer. You may suffer in life. And you may suffer in death. Your existence may become unbearable for your own existence.

May you feel trapped in your body.

May you die of the exhale from your own lungs.

May your words wrap your own tongue.

May you wish for death.

May you live forever.

Walli – Prologue to Chapter 11

Do you wonder when you see a wrist with multiple, shiny, parallel, horizontal scars? Blade Marks or wrist cuts. Maybe you don’t. Why don’t they look unattractive?

Behind every cut is a story. Obviously. Could be anything. Lost love. Breakup. Goodbye. Death. Depression. Something.

Mostly, it’s love. Lost love. About the one you think is the one until the one becomes ‘the lost one’ and so… blade marks. Idiotic. But a huge portion of literature and poetry has been all about love, which has its branches and breaches deeply rooted in lust; but we prefer to call it love.

Writing, talking, and thinking about lips. Gait. Voice. Hair. Complexion. Height. Eyes. No one’s talking about the intellectual capacity of the other one or the conversations that talk beyond the universe. Maybe because that is not what love is.

There’s no ‘one’. Neo was the last ‘one’. Next is… wait.

Anyway, back to the blade marks of the lady behind the counter. Offering ice cream. Wonder how she executed the whole process? To let the pain bleed. Leaving the body. Making tiny paths through the sink. Dumping. Into the gutter.

Yet, pain stays. Because it cannot be bled out. It needs to be kept inside. It needs to be nurtured. Taken care of. Because it stays.

109 billion have died so far in this world. Your ‘one and only’ can’t be from those 109 billion. ‘The one’ must be alive in your time zone to initiate a love affair, that usually starts from lust. You can call it crush. Or cuteness. Or whatever your level of being an idiot is.

Comes the current 8 billion. 4 billion is the other gender. Then 3.99 billion are those you never meet. In the end, it leaves around 50 or so options. Out of which, max 5 would consider you as a partner. And then comes the one. Can lead to divorce. Pretty strong chances. Or it can be a suffering prolonged till one of the two dies. As vowed.

What if you find love later in life? After marriage? Then what? Extramarital affair? For the one?

By the way, if you convert ‘the one’ with ‘another one’; you may score a century.

The algorithm that runs the systems has its errors. Some errors are as idiotic as poetry. There is no ‘one’. It’s an illusion. That’s fine though. People must have reasons to live and reasons to die. I have some. Cigarettes among them.

However, Walli has a major reason. The one in which he has specialized with comprehensively crafted research of 11 years. It will be 11 years this April. This pain starts with M. It’s all in the name of M. Remember that story?

In the name of MARYAM!

When Socrates had to die to live forever.

When Mansur Al Haj had to be insulted to be elevated forever.

When Nietzsche had to get insanely mad to become Übermensch.

When Hussain had to bleed to live for generations to come.

And when Dante had to leave for hell so he could write divine comedy.

Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember Walli? He breathed on your neck for some time.

What if the wrist is clean? No blade marks. No wound. Nothing. Only blue veins neatly passing through the system that generates those illusions? Does that mean no story? No blade marks, no pain?

Some bleed once. Some bleed twice. And some bleed forever. They nurture their pain and keep it near their heart as a sacred message for the heavens and hells together.

Have you wondered what if you die with these cuts? Don’t you care about the trauma you give to the pain? Don’t you want to keep it alive? Don’t you want to live by it? Stand by it? And finally, die by it?

Walli doesn’t have blade marks. But he has a story. That story starts with M. And it lives without through the reddish trails of the sink. It lives.

And she lives too. Among you.

Serpents

“If you have problems with this country, then leave this country.”

“It’s easy to bark from outside. Come back and then talk about this country.”

—–

“He has brought his children to the country. See, he is raising the next generation to rule us.”

“He hasn’t brought his children to the country because he knows this country is worthless; yet he himself wants to rule forever.”

—–

“These celebrities shouldn’t speak on political and religious matters. They know nothing.”

“See, these celebrities never speak. They prefer to remain silent because they are privileged and don’t mind injustice outside their comfort zones.”

—–

“Foreign companies come here, loot us, and take our money abroad.”

“We need foreign direct investment else we are going to be bankrupt.”

—–

“They are poor because they don’t work hard.”

“They came out of poverty after cheating the system.”

—–

“We must preserve our culture and traditions.”

“Our culture and traditions have brought us to this disadvantage in comparison to the world.”

—–

“He never changes himself.”

“He’s changed. He’s not the same person I admired once.”

—–

“Our family system defines well-being of our next generation.”

“Our family system has destroyed the potential of our generation.”

—–

“There is no compulsion in religion.”

“The state must implement religion through laws.”

—–

“A woman should be independent.”

“A woman without a man is incomplete.”

—–

“See her. Looks don’t matter. Hard work does.”

“See, looks matter. Otherwise, what else does she have?”

—–

“She should take divorce. How long is she going to face violence and torture? She’s setting a bad example for her daughters.”

“She took divorce because she wanted to live free without any responsibility. She’s a bad example.”

—–

“He’s a family man. Else he could have used his potential to make a fortune.”

“All he has made is worthless money after neglecting his domestic roles and responsibilities.”

—–

“Men who rape should be castrated and imprisoned for life.”

“She was asking for it. It was long overdue. Can’t blame men for everything.”

—–

“The constitution allows us freedom of speech.”

Beep. The one who spoke is missing.

My Belief System

Nothing has changed. Maybe a little, but not really. I would insist on standing correctly.

I still wake up as a believer. A man of faith. With the passing of the day, the belief system transforms – evolution or devolution. It adopts more of atheism. By the night, its agnosticism that wins. And then, it starts all over again with the next sunrise.

If I had to choose one, I would choose none. Each has its own beauty.

Peek a little at any religion and it’s beautiful. See their books. Their Prophets – or non-Prophets. See their scriptures. Their religious places. I love religious places of all kinds. Mosque, Church, Temple, Gurdwara, Synagogue, etc. Each beautiful in its own way.

None of the religion says to mock. None say to hurt. None say to snatch. None say to rob, rape, abuse, murder, or anything bad. Yet, their competition never ends. And it would never end. And that’s not fine. Or maybe it is fine because over a billion people would die of hunger if there wasn’t any religion.

You can say every religion is beautiful. Or each one is detestable. The meaning would remain the same. Do you know how many bloody wars atheists and agnostics have fought throughout history?

Yes. Blame the people. Not religion. A convenient offering. Denied. Dismissed.

Anyway. I was talking about my belief system.

A beautiful religion to look forward to in the day. And nothing to look forward to by the night except your own self. Your own guts, your own imagination, your own power of will, your own lethargy, your own words, your own keyboard. Your own stubbornness not to make a dua for another year. Then another. Then…

That’s His Highness’s way of life. Nothing to be proud of.

From offering ownership to the Divine in the day and debating to get it back at noon and effectively attaining it back by the night. How bright?

Poetic! How can it be that you talk about religion, and you don’t rhyme?

Are you interested in space and cosmos? It’s consistent expansion. The more we know, the more we don’t know. The more we see, the more is yet to be seen. From masters of the universe, we have not even been able to manage ourselves as a single dot in space. These spheres, these stars, these planetary systems, the galaxies, the cosmos and what not.

The black holes – the most fascinating aspect of the universe; after the scattered moles of Marla. But you don’t know Marla. I know. If she lies up-side down, there’s an entire universe at your disposal. Fascinating.

Well, I don’t know much about space. Almost nothing. Except that it is the most interesting subject in our history. And that is also a source of making the point that ‘nothing really matters’ as in Bohemian Rhapsody. Or maybe, the point is the exact opposite. Even then, it doesn’t matter.

Anyway, back to where we were before the usual deviation. Everything is beautiful. Religion too. The God too. The whole scripture too. But not you.

Seeing a child with cancer. Or a mother dying of hunger. Or a war killing thousands of children just because they were born in the unfortunate land. Or any other tragedy. Like a person living on dialysis for the last ten years. Something. Anything. And then you believe that this can’t be divine work. This can’t be a work of art. This is too ruthless to be appreciated.

Art. We made art. Even out of tragedies that were destined from the Lord for the weakest of all creatures.

You may disagree. I disagree with myself too. Because I know nothing. I know less than anyone I know.

There is not a single subject that I know of. Master of none.

Yet, there is not a single subject which I don’t know. Master of all.

Because I am you.

And we are all like that. I am you. You are me. We are all the same – with the only exception that I am writing these words while you are reading your thoughts. Am I not the echo inside your body?

Am I not Zarathustra? Yours truly Zarathustra?

Other than that, we all have the same source of DNA. We all may be children of God. Or not. But we all deserve to live the way we want to live. And we all deserve to be respected. Yes, except those. Bloody idiots and duffers.

Condemn but Understand too

A hungry man robs. You don’t like it, but you do understand it.

A threatened person lies. You don’t like it, but you do understand it.

A deprived woman steals food. You don’t like it, but you understand it.

A poor child takes someone’s toy home. You don’t like it, but you do understand it.

Hamas attacks Israel. 1,200 casualties. Condemned. But you do understand that it decades of atrocities led to this outrage. No need to explain this. You understand.

Kashmiris, Yeminis, Iraqis, Afghans, Naxalites, Adivasis… you understand.

Every religion has stories of war. Of standing for what they believed was right. Fighting against the mighty powers with marginal forces.

Religions survived on the bodies of those who died in the sacred and holy wars. You understand that too.

Ironically, every religion was “blasphemous” in the beginning for the already established religions – yet it didn’t punish itself of blasphemy. It stood. It fought. It carved its path through history of empires, deaths, wars and peace.

Don’t awe and blink as if I’m the only… You do understand this too, don’t you?

Thus whispered Zarathustra!  

Unsimilarly – I’m neologist, nothing wrong with the word – you become a pious hypocrite. A nationalist creep. A patriotic discriminator.

Balochistan is more than the derogatory trends you see on social media. It is more than it is censored on mainstream media. It has a history of deprivation, blood, and dead bodies. Of stolen rights. Of denied resources. Of ego-driven military operations. Divide and rule. Missing people. Terrorism. Fanaticism. Experimentation. Religion-based hate.

So much so that common people avoid to visit altogether.

But uncommon people – civil and uncivil establishments – lust for this cruel concubine as it makes you rich quicker than real estate files of DHA. Not just smuggled cars, petroleum, minerals, dead bodies, and traitors come out of it… pizzas come of it too. Million-dollar pizzas.

So when they raise their weapons… condemn. But understand.  Understand their shrieks, their anger, their raised voice, their slurs, their tears… and their bullets.

They didn’t pick weapons by choice. We forced them to. We set the stage. We sold them weapons. We turned war into business. They die; we make money. And of course, military courts and budget.

By “we” you do understand what I mean.

I could list dates, numbers, and the dead – but you already know. Even as you camouflage yourself in hypocrisy.

If all you can do is lick boots and hump on the state’s narrative – moan and own. But do it alone and choose not to vomit everywhere.

With that, have a blessed last Jumma of Ramzan. You prayed your way. I prayed this way.

Foreign-Funded

Aurat March is foreign-funded.

Mahrang Baloch is foreign-funded.

PTM is foreign-funded.

BYC is foreign-funded.

Liberals are foreign-funded.

Ahmadis are foreign-funded.

Dawn is foreign-funded.

Edhi was foreign-funded.

Asma Jahangir was foreign-funded.

Sabeen was foreign-funded.

Parween was foreign-funded.

Herald was foreign-funded.

Our pimping-wars were US-funded – from making Talibans to killing Talibans to reviving Talibans to apologizing Talibans.

Ever wondered if 23rd March was foreign-funded too?

The whole country is foreign-funded. Yet it remains poor, stunted, and myopic. But not everything is foreign-funded.

Movies, songs, advertisements, goosebumps, and nationalism are ISPR-funded.

TLP, JuD, LeJ, SSP, banned outfits, unbanned outfits, polo grounds, marriage halls, elections, nightmares are Pindi-funded.

Blasphemy and mob lynchings are funded at community-level through madrassahs and mosques.

Bureaucracy Babus and Aapis are poor taxpayers-funded to run Instagram overtly and bribe-chains covertly.

Hate and corruption are mutually-funded.

Accountability? Selectively-funded.

Justice and truth? Unfunded.

Balochistan Issue

Bear with me because it is going to be long one. But it is needed.

“Walking with the Comrades” is a book by Arundhati Roy where she narrates her firsthand experience of forests of Central India. Among Maoists. Naxalites. Dr. Manmohan Singh famously said that Naxalites / Maoists are “single biggest internal security threat” to India.

Why? What was the problem? Why were these Adivasis / Lower Castes hated so much? Why “Salwa Judum” kind of lethal forces were made to kill them? Why were the police unleashed on them. Even Indian military was launched against these people who had nothing to eat. Air Force was used too.

Because Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand, Odisha, Madhya Pradesh, etc. had iron ore, coal, bauxite, copper, and other minerals worth billions of dollars. India wanted to make rich richer by selling these minerals abroad. So, these people had to be rooted out from their homes. With bullets. Through force.

Who are these people. Of course they are poor. Hungry. Illiterate. But that’s not what they all are. There are doctors, engineers, middle class revolutionaries among them too. They read. They write. And they try their best to fight against the propaganda. But they are shunned on mainstream media. Newspapers don’t cover them. They are hated by default all across the country.

So, when they get nothing in return, they fight. Once, in 2008, they raid a police armory and captured 1,200 rifles and 200,000 rounds of ammunition. They killed police in return. They took as much vengeance as they could. And sometimes, they killed innocent citizens too. Happens. Collateral damage happens both ways.

Now imagine Gandhi meeting these people and asking them to go for hunger strike. Idiotic, right? When you have no audience, you can die in any kind of strike. You need to be Gandhi in order to be successful. Hence, in such cases, resistance is the only way-forward.

So far so good. Right? It’s India, so you have an obvious conscientious side.

Big dams in India have displaced 40-50 million people. That’s 4-5 crore people. In 1980s, the same kind of Adivasis / lower caste people stood under Narmada Bachao Andolan (NBA) to stop the dams that were going to drown their homes and history. They failed. and But they made their mark. World Bank (always against poor in different formats) withdrew from it after Morse Commission stated that the project was actually not feasible.

Large dams were a myth. They destroy more land than they cultivate. They destroy villages and history. Silting. Deforestation. Downstream water shortage. Disrupting deltas. And displacement of millions of people.

Where do these millions go?

In slums. Of Mumbai, Delhi, Kolkata. They are moved from their already lower hierarchy to the lowest and then their generations rot in slums without becoming a slumdog millionaire.

NBA did whatever they could. They even stood in their homes when the water level in the dam was rising. They stood till they were drowned till their necks. What else could they do even after beating World Bank? NBA were not able to initiate an armed struggle. So, they lost it. Just like farmers. From 1995 to 2014, around 300,000 farmers have committed suicide in India.

Naxalites were able to pick up arms – advantage of being in jungles – so they did and are not lost yet.

Now come to Pakistan’s Balochistan. Let’s take a 180 shift from our collective conscientious. Because we are going to enter the same paradox that everyone in their country has – one way or the other i.e., treating a certain segment with discrimination and violence.

Balochistan has minerals worth billions (start relating it with the above examples of India). Those who want to get rich are posted there in both civil and military establishment. Remember General Papa Johns? Other than minerals, smuggling is a big market there. But these are all for establishment guys. People there remain poor.

Balochistan has been targeted since 1948. Military operations after military operations were launched. After assassination of Bugti by General Musharraf, BLA was formed. Organically. Now this BLA is not of sardars or militants in literal sense. It is of young – most educated people. There are doctors and engineers among them. Well-read and trust me they will beat you on table talks with their knowledge. They are not under any sardar or feudal lord. They are their own masters.

Umm… Naxalites!

How was Mama Qadir was treated? He just wanted to talk but LUMS was denied.

Why was Sabeen Mehmood killed? Just because she allowed a space in Karachi to talk about Balochistan?

Maulana Hidayat? Why this huge propaganda against him when he isn’t armed?

And now, Mahrang Baloch? Her father was abducted. Then killed. She has questions. She is a victim of state terrorism. She came to Islamabad with her questions and with her demand of constitutional rights. What did we do? Answer violently. Soaked her and all others in water in winter. Threw her out of the capital.

Narmada Bachao Andolan resonating?

Same thing with PTM. They have been hated and tagged ‘anti-nationals’ since forever. They are not armed. They just want implementation of National Action Plan and Constitution of Pakistan. Yet, they are as ugly as anyone who asks questions.

So, what is the option left for them? Revolution? Arm resistance? To make noise to be heard?

As Nehru said, “Only Israfeel’s trumpet can wake the dead.” Let me write that in Urdu:

مردوں کو جگانے کے لیے صور پھونکنا ہی پڑے گا۔

I condemn murder of innocent people. They were as poor as any poor anywhere. We are condemning since 1948. Condemned. Condemned. Condemned. What next? Condemnations till we ourselves will be condemned for our own miserable deaths?

I condemn the deaths of the innocent ones. But before condemning the perpetrators – I would prefer to condemn the big perpetrators whose policies gives birth to small perpetrators every now and then. The ones who keep the flames burning. The ones who make fortunes over the wars, dead bodies, and coffins.

There is only solution. The same we forgot in 1950s and 1960s that ended up as 1971.

Islamabad – and of course the adjacent city – needs to sit with Balochs with honesty. Military solution is not a solution but a mess as we have seen since the foundation of this country.

Those you hate – or the ones hated on mainstream media with propaganda – are the key figures to peace: Mahrang, Hidayat etc. Their grievances need to be heard and addressed. Their difference of opinions should be part of dialogue on mainstream media. No one should be censored as long as hate and violence are not part of communication.

That won’t happen obviously. Duffers rule here. And life of Balochs never mattered.

They would love to sit with TLP and TTP but not the ones who are just angry for not being given their constitutional rights and are fed of their loved ones gone missing in a ritual.

This is the shortest it could be written on this topic. Else a whole small book like “Walking with the Comrades” can be written on this topic in a single go.

دل کی بات ہے

دل کی بات ہے۔

دل چاہے تو حرام، حرام۔

دل مانے تو سب حلال۔

جان چھڑانی ہو تو استخارہ

ورنہ ہر بات گوارا۔

ایک طرف جائز طلاق

دوسری جانب ناجائز نباہ۔

اپنے لیے آزمائش

دوسروں کے لیے مکافات۔

انجان کا اچانک چھونا اچھا لگے تو راحت

نہ لگے تو حراسانی کی قباحت۔

پسندیدہ شخص کا شرک بھی توحید

ورنہ تو مومن کا جہاد بھی فساد۔

مردہ شہید۔

شہید مردہ۔

دل بھر جائے تو بیڑہ غرق

نہ بھرے تو مسلسل اذیت۔

دل کی بات ہے۔

میری آزمائش، تمہاری سزا۔

میری نماز، تمہاری ٹکریں۔

میری جنت، تمہاری دوزخ۔

Business of Terrorism

Burkina Faso tops the Global Terrorism Index, with Pakistan following closely in second place. Congratulations . A difference of just 0.207 between the two countries. A little more consistency, and we could claim the top spot.

Who will you blame? Sorry. Wrong words. Let me rephrase. Who deserves the credit? The Prime Minister? The Chief Ministers? The Chief Justices? No.

You know who’s the unsung hero in all this. From martial law to another. From one bomb blast to another. The country is in blood not for nothing. There’s a complete business plan under execution.

This patriotism and nationalism is a business of the elite. It is embedded in you with curriculum, songs, movies, and slogans. So that you can die, and your family be proud of it. Let me elaborate with an already shared post:

Rashid Minhas took the plane down and crashed it because an agent was trying to take it to other side of the border. Minhas embraced martyrdom and was awarded Nishan-e-Haider.

Who was the agent? What is the other side of the story?

Matiur Rehman was the “agent” who was trying to take the plane out of Pakistan. He was fighting for his nation i.e. freedom fight of Bengalis. From Bangladeshi point of view, he was their hero.

Matiur Rehman was awarded Bir Sreshtho (equivalent to Nishan-e-Haider) and is known as their national hero. Just like Minhas.

Two sides of the same coin. Same story. Same incident. Same plane. Same martyrdom. Same medal of honor. And same religion.

Both were sons. Both had families. Both had dreams. Both had a life.

But who won? Business. Business of war, weapons, arsenals, jets, tanks…

And who suffered? Those who were sick, hungry, illiterate, malnourished, and striving for basics. Public. Awaam. Janta. They are still striving. Pakistan, India and Bangladesh have the highest pool of people below poverty line.

Take it this way. There are five members of Security Council. This council of security is supposed to make this world more secure. And these five countries are the top five countries of exporting weapons. Business. Nothing else. We either end up as consumers or collateral damage. Wrapped in a flag. 21 shots. That’s it.

As Arundhati Roy said;

“Flags are bits of colored cloth that governments use first to shrink-wrap people’s minds & then as ceremonial shrouds to bury the dead.”

Trash Can

In the end, you are all trash cans for others. Dumpsters.

If you try not to be, you fail. You don’t meet expectations. You are selfish.

So, you are. The closest ones dump more. Some only dump and dump until you are unable to recycle the consistent flow. You stink then.

And then, the obvious fall: you fail.

You are not what you were supposed to be: a trash can.

What are the expectations? Who sets them? Why are all expectations centered around to be a trash can?

A better trash can is a better person to market. To show to the world. Your worth?

Close your lid.

Let the people slide.

Or roll somewhere far – maybe towards the trash truck and get rid of all the garbage.

Neither dump. Nor let anyone dump.

In the end, a trash can is never enough.