There must be things that are real but I’m sure I’m not one of those. Nothing I do has any effect in the world. I’m not seen and never heard.
It’s good for me to be kept away and stored in a cool and dry place where no sun light can reach. But I keep getting older and You demand that I respond to Your needs and justify my existence.
What is there to exploit from me? I don’t bring any of value into the world, You never taught me how to. My hands are for idling. What You want from me I can’t give.
I have been neutered. I’m devoid of human spirit, I’m the last man, one of Calhoun’s “beautiful ones”, I’m the achievement subject, an NPC, just another microbe monkey-man.
1 comment
well there is great comfort in a persistent nothingness, I congratulate you on finding it.
The human heart is built around desire though. No matter what self denial or limited situations one imposes, a human will desire something new, or different.
I get that you don’t get where you fit, or how that might work out. I get it, because that’s how I feel. However, despite my best efforts, others care for me, and apparently I’m worth more alive to them than dead. That’s their value system. In mine, I’m trying to satisfy my inner desire to become likeable. I don’t make the progress I’d like, but that hasn’t convinced me that such progress is impossible.
Most of all what occurs to me is my own limited imagination and drive. To imagine that I could have a complete understanding of even my small world feels like well beyond my capacity. I bought a mug, it’s supposed to be inspirational, and it says “Anything could happen.”
That’s my depressive thought. Anything might happen, and who is to say that it will be somehow better.