Archness
Defective Personel
- Jan 20, 2023
- 490
There isn't much in life for me apart from passing the time, maybe the occasional "good feelings"; but there's a lack of depth, a certain kind of distance unmistakable.
Looking at the "big picture", we're all just birds pecking buttons doing whatever to get these nice sensations. It's dehumanizing and alienating, I can't help but see past the facade.
But past that, there just isn't anything for me. In an attempt to alleviate that, as I fell in a blacken despair, I had a dream : I wished to become a writer, write a good, perhaps even important work of literature
But I can't even try now, all attempts are hopeless from the start, even starting, it proves hopeless. These failures are true failures, because there's only a vacuum left : Nothing I could show others, no record, forgotten by myself even, and nothing learned but that I can't do anything. In a literal sense, I CAN'T WRITE.
Every attempt at my dream, a "certain project"... A Failure
The rebellious passion I once had against nihil, to be a writer, dead. Gone, entirely defeated!
It's over, I know that, but you know me : Thinking, daydreaming, dream-dreaming no matter how impossible.
I couldn't, and possibly could never accept this defeat. There'll always be a part of me with this dream, which this need, a thought that it is possible.
I really did loose already. But I can't help it.... Without it I can't really ctb in peace, because to be honest, as unbearable as this spiritrial starvation is, living and dying for nothing is even moreso.
I can't live to write, but I want to have done something that truly meant something to me, if temporary as life.
Really depressing that's the best I could hope for ; makes me suicidal how I can't even do this.
If I could fulfill this mission, I could peacefully ctb and content.
Looking at the "big picture", we're all just birds pecking buttons doing whatever to get these nice sensations. It's dehumanizing and alienating, I can't help but see past the facade.
But past that, there just isn't anything for me. In an attempt to alleviate that, as I fell in a blacken despair, I had a dream : I wished to become a writer, write a good, perhaps even important work of literature
But I can't even try now, all attempts are hopeless from the start, even starting, it proves hopeless. These failures are true failures, because there's only a vacuum left : Nothing I could show others, no record, forgotten by myself even, and nothing learned but that I can't do anything. In a literal sense, I CAN'T WRITE.
Every attempt at my dream, a "certain project"... A Failure
The rebellious passion I once had against nihil, to be a writer, dead. Gone, entirely defeated!
It's over, I know that, but you know me : Thinking, daydreaming, dream-dreaming no matter how impossible.
I couldn't, and possibly could never accept this defeat. There'll always be a part of me with this dream, which this need, a thought that it is possible.
I really did loose already. But I can't help it.... Without it I can't really ctb in peace, because to be honest, as unbearable as this spiritrial starvation is, living and dying for nothing is even moreso.
I can't live to write, but I want to have done something that truly meant something to me, if temporary as life.
Really depressing that's the best I could hope for ; makes me suicidal how I can't even do this.
If I could fulfill this mission, I could peacefully ctb and content.
