Judgment
The idea of a judgment day after one's life is scary, that everything one had done in his lifetime would be rewound and played back on a high-density massive monitor screen for all those relevant to form an audience to watch, and no doubt be amazed. This is an enthralling thought because, as no saint, everyone surely lives some shameful moments in life, only wished to be forgotten if not forgiven, vanished from all memories and leaving no trace afterwards.
If an after-life jury for one's sin is terrifying, it is no doubt tragic for anyone having to live through that during one's lifetime, as the latest infamous Edison's episode in Hong Kong elucidates. But the melancholic drama is provocative as it is pathetic, as it is a self-made one. By definition, he becomes a psychopath, whose ego to capture the moments of his supposedly private part dangling on the coveted celebrity faces, and wet in their mouths, outweighted all risks of exposure and outwiped all senses of guilt.
So he got what he intended, albeit subconsciously, for the world to see his triumph. But it was triumph no more once those supposedly euphoric private moments captured digitally transended all physcial and national boundaries in reaching out to any PC or desktop terminal with a link to the cyberspace for anyone who cares to take a look. It is not unlike cancer, in permeability and pain.
I have no intention to pass judgment, by too much, and indeed detest those righteous minds in demanding public explanation from the damaged souls. What do they expect from him, and his other preys? That he is the progenitor of all those images? That he is feeling sorry for what he has done? That he will never do it again? Please forgive me and continue to buy me?
The fact of matter is that those pictures of cock-sucking shattered imagination, destroyed dreams, exposed human weaknesses, and haunt people with the dark side of sex. But people have free will. They can choose to ignore, as they can choose to draw lessons for self-vigilance (for those sexually perverted) or grandiosity (for those pompously righteous). Just leave them to their own device.
If an after-life jury for one's sin is terrifying, it is no doubt tragic for anyone having to live through that during one's lifetime, as the latest infamous Edison's episode in Hong Kong elucidates. But the melancholic drama is provocative as it is pathetic, as it is a self-made one. By definition, he becomes a psychopath, whose ego to capture the moments of his supposedly private part dangling on the coveted celebrity faces, and wet in their mouths, outweighted all risks of exposure and outwiped all senses of guilt.
So he got what he intended, albeit subconsciously, for the world to see his triumph. But it was triumph no more once those supposedly euphoric private moments captured digitally transended all physcial and national boundaries in reaching out to any PC or desktop terminal with a link to the cyberspace for anyone who cares to take a look. It is not unlike cancer, in permeability and pain.
I have no intention to pass judgment, by too much, and indeed detest those righteous minds in demanding public explanation from the damaged souls. What do they expect from him, and his other preys? That he is the progenitor of all those images? That he is feeling sorry for what he has done? That he will never do it again? Please forgive me and continue to buy me?
The fact of matter is that those pictures of cock-sucking shattered imagination, destroyed dreams, exposed human weaknesses, and haunt people with the dark side of sex. But people have free will. They can choose to ignore, as they can choose to draw lessons for self-vigilance (for those sexually perverted) or grandiosity (for those pompously righteous). Just leave them to their own device.
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