ColdLightOfDay
Serge’s alt.
★★★★★
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2018
- Posts
- 5,717
The synchronicities in my suffering seem too specific to not be by design. The fabric of the universe is opposed to my very existence, I just do not belong here. It’s like water and oil, we just cannot coexist. As the vastly inferior entity I am the one to be crushed beneath its weight. I walk around the city with my face contorted in an expression of perpetual disgust at all that I see, and I feel the world spitting back at me in kind. There is no beauty in this world for me, only mockery and illusion. The most beautiful scenes in nature serve as nothing but an ironically placed backdrop to contrast how horrible the human experience really is.
Our emotions are supposed to be sacred to us simply because they make life worth living? But they are nothing but distractions, profane caricatures of meaning beckoning us through an endless maze of smoke and mirrors until we finally drop dead before ever having felt truly satisfied. This is the fate of the lucky ones. For love is the most coveted human emotion, and those who don’t know it have never truly been born at all, they are but hollow ghosts, shades of men doomed to walk the earth without a taste of that one thing which they know is supposed to best quench man’s undying thirst for meaning. They know not what it tastes like, though they miss it every day. They will never know its warmth, they will only feel the void of its absence burning straight through them like radiation off a dying star.
The only comforting voice in this sea of screams is that of death, willing them to take his hand and follow unto oblivion, where sense has no more meaning and meaning need not suffer sense. Take me death, where suffering hath no meaning and this senseless pain can suffer death.
Our emotions are supposed to be sacred to us simply because they make life worth living? But they are nothing but distractions, profane caricatures of meaning beckoning us through an endless maze of smoke and mirrors until we finally drop dead before ever having felt truly satisfied. This is the fate of the lucky ones. For love is the most coveted human emotion, and those who don’t know it have never truly been born at all, they are but hollow ghosts, shades of men doomed to walk the earth without a taste of that one thing which they know is supposed to best quench man’s undying thirst for meaning. They know not what it tastes like, though they miss it every day. They will never know its warmth, they will only feel the void of its absence burning straight through them like radiation off a dying star.
The only comforting voice in this sea of screams is that of death, willing them to take his hand and follow unto oblivion, where sense has no more meaning and meaning need not suffer sense. Take me death, where suffering hath no meaning and this senseless pain can suffer death.