Empty Days

Saturday, October 02, 2004



What oh God am I doing here?

I truly do not know - why I am around. I do nothing and I am good for nothing and yet I am around and I take up space, damn it. All this talk about self-realization is fine and dandy but on some barely conscious level I always feel that my presence in this world has been either a giant mistake or it got nothing to do whatsoever with any sort of mine personal pleasure or contentment or meaning of mine life etc.

This life of mine, ladies and gentlement, has no meaning whatsoever - I can invent some temporarily, but on the whole it just has none. Period. My own existence is beyond me - I was given birth without any fucking explanations, without any fucking goals - it happened. And nobody really knows why it happened. The only viable explanation so far has been: my parents wanted to have a family. There is no point asking why people desire to have a family - there are no meaningful explanations to this absurd desire. It's procreation. Is procreation explained by some instinctive need of the species to populate the earth? Is it even explained by some incredibly deep desire to overcome one's own physical death? I strongly doubt it - my parents were young idiots when they brought me to the world: they just wanted to have a "good life". It got nothing to do whatsoever with overcoming death, let me tell you. It's not very different from wanting badly to wear the latest fashion in season - who the fuck cares about latest fashion?? People do, oh yes, and how!

Therefore I am around on account of some reasons as deep and profound as those on display in the Fashion Magazine. Love and desire to have a family do not go anywhere beyond that level of reasoning and desiring. Read Fashion Magazine, folks, the whole raw wisdom of the world is in there. Compared to which such discontented fucks as Nietzsche are an abberation - the world is most emphatically *not* ruled by deep thoughts and musings on the meaning of a deeply meaningless life.

*

My tragedy has been that I cannot very well settle for the Fashion Magazine and board the go-merry-round of purely instinctive unquestioning living. Too bad I fell off that majestic ship of fools so very early. I need to get back but I can't - the music onboard is too loud and I have to dive ever deeper to escape the overpowering sounds of this ongoing fashionable madness.

I wish I would die already - it just makes no sense and I can't state this clearly enough: it makes no sense!

Am I a fish? It would seem so indeed - that I need to finally accept my fishy state and swim away into the vastness of an oceanic wilderness. Haha.





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