ENTRY: 0
09.08.26
(dd.mm.yy)
Rememberme


I am typing this on a Sunday in my dusty and muggy room.
Tomorrow, there is work.

I am emotionally exhausted and recovering from a virus that I caught after a Monday of weeping every hour.
It was the kind of crying that results from sustained frustration and when the pain feels inescapable no matter what you do to sooth it.
Last weekend, I lost a relationship with someone very close.

It feels disrespectful to write to help my mind focus on something else. I don’t want to forget them, although that’s the best way for me to feel better. I’d say that it feels disrespectful to forget them, but I need a different word. “Respect” feels to me more like a humanitarian duty. For an individual I was close to, a better word may be “cruel” or “insulting” or “soulless”.

To forget feels soulless, yet that’s what everyone will do to me. That’s what I’ll do to everyone.

Outside, I can hear the screams of the damned. I can hear innocent blood being shed, and I can hear the general attitude toward the first quarter of this century.

It feels redundant and trite to express further negativity about our time, and to focus only on the positive borders on insulting. To question happiness is our tired habit, but it seems like it takes a silly person not to be jaded. Well, our epoch does deserve mourning and we must cry and fight for change. I don’t disagree with that. My personality options have been narrowed, then.

I'll select one of my many complaints: that for the last decade, nothing has felt of substance to me.
It's all so gray, literally. The concrete, the opaque tones of the buildings, the worn-out palettes across deserts of multi-lane highways, the smog that shrinks the horizon, the indoor furniture bathing in sickly pale LED lights. These environments were not tailored to me or you, but to an imaginary average person with weak opinions, mentally disabled, and addicted to comformity. And we live in these environments all day, feeling like psychopaths as we read sensational articles about political conflicts, the behavior of famous figures unimportant but influential enough to contribute to the tortures of countless innocent human beings.

And what all of this means is that you are here as a form of escapism and seeking comfort.
Maybe, like me, you've been tired of the outside heat. You've been looking for somewhere quieter, darker. Here, we're both hiding from the implied unimportance of our existence, found in between the lines of our insipid and immoral routines. People who have been fulfilled will never find or care for this place. We’re in a “privileged” position where we can be hauntingly introspective. You and I, you and I specifically, work for nothing, and are starting to dream less ambitiously, fantasizing only about being satisfied and unburdened instead of being elated or infatuated. We will die very soon, in approximately 200,000 waking hours. We live for nothing. And, ironically, that’s exactly why this place is not for nothing.

I’m going to state the premise like this: I was put on this planet to feed someone’s soul.

(Of course, that’s just an expression. I’ll get to talk more about my material view of our universe later.)

I’ve been selfishly looking for the people who would feed my soul, who would fulfill my need. I haven’t had the emotional maturity or energy to be a fulfiller of that need for someone else. Some recent events and an availability of time and resources have allowed me to understand I’ll find a good amount of happiness in giving instead. That narrows down the audience for this, and it also means this place will become terribly difficult to find and advertise--and I don’t even want to do that because it feels so fucking gross to me.

I don’t want to advertise this. I want you to find it, stumble upon it without searching it first. This really feels more like I’m sending a message in a bottle, not in a state of emergency, but once I’ve realized no one is coming to rescue me, just hoping that someone I’ve never met finds the message and consumes it. I may never know that you did. But maybe if you did, you’ll let me know. There will hopefully be other platforms to do that with.

And that is the premise. Life is meaningless. For a lot of us, things are going to get exponentially worse. Most of my dreams have died. I’ve given up on so many things that I feel degraded, violated and humiliated. I feel people around me have no souls.

So, I’ve decided to reach out and let you know how I’ve been.