You know. The one with people in it.
Real people. Happy people. Strong people. Healthy, whole, and hardy people. People with lives. People with jobs. People with families and careers and social circles and hobbies and involvements and commitments and lovers and partners and sex.
People whose brains work the right way.
People who don’t feel the burden of days.
People who never think about ways to die
People who never have to ask themselves why
People who never need a reason to try
People who have no idea how good they have it because they don’t live every waking minute in the shadow of death. They never worry that one day their self-control will slip for just a second and they will kill themselves, or do something else crazy. People who think nothing of doing things they feel like doing because their feelings can be trusted.
People who walk in the sunshine of human contact, social connection, community acceptance and inclusion, and the real living world, and never know it because it is all they have ever known.
The real people. The good people. People who are good : good people, good partners, good parents, good children, good employees, good friends, good bosses, good citizens, with good lives.
They are good in general and never feels absolutely worthless. Less than worthless. A liability to reality. A net loss for the entire human race. A vile and tragic mistake only death can correct.
I think about that other world a lot. To me, it seems ;like the promised land. A garden full of life and light and vitality and love the darkness can never touch. A sunshine soaked sanctuary filled with impossibly happy people who are completely unlike myself.
I would get glimpses of this world via media as a child and felt such a terrible longing it felt like I would die. And I still want to be a part of that world instead of my lone and lofty ice capped hell where the air is crystal clear and cold as space and hurts me.
A guru on a mountaintop, but not by choice.
If I could, I would climb down and join that hot and busy world down there. The one I understand so well from watching it for so long.
But I can’t. I am stuck on this god damned mountain, chained to that big goddamned rock by fear and confusion and the feeling that if I melt, I will die.
Like I’m a fucking cartoon snowman.
So I’ve only ever seen that other world from orbit. I have never been a part of it. I’ve always been on the sidelines of life, seeing all and doing nothing. A ten dimensional disembodies eye with plenty of vision but no will.
And it’s so very, very cold here. Cold enough to kill, which is why I am not really alive.
And I know all this is objectively crazy.
But I don’t care, because it’s subjectively true, and that’s allit needs to be.
More after the break,
Everything is worthless
Everything is worthless
Existence has no meaning
Everything is pointless
And I can’t find the sky
Nature isn’t lovely
The world is cold and hostile
The truth of life is brutal
And I can’t find the sky
Everything is haunted
And everything is broken
So many words unspoken
That might have led somewhere
When I look up
All i see is madness
A million drops of sadness
Suspended in mid air
The hell I’m in
Makes my blood begin to freeze
The world’s one big disease
And we’re all microbes too
My skeleton
Is getting restless in its closet
But there’s no soul there to stop it
Some day it might break through
When look down
The ground below is bleeding
The world goes on, unheeding
Pretty soon it won’t be there
There is no sense of order
We’ve become a race of hoarders
And there is this constant order
Of garbage left to rot
And when they come to collect me
I hope they don’t reject me
Because they don’t expect me
To have so much that I’m not
When I look around
I see souls with gaping mouths
Trying hard to shout
But their pain can’t get out
The world around me’s screaming
But I just can’t stop dreaming
My mind is always teeming
With thoughts that all want out
And as they jam the exits
My mind is a dog’s breakfast
All because I can’t select shit
When they all scream and shout
Narrator : Meanwhile, deep inside an underground factory, The Man Who Will Kill Us All is trying to decide what to eat.
He stares at the menu screen as if he can make one of the same eight things the dispenser’s been stuck on for the last three months suddenly appeal to him with the power of his mind alone.
Well, you never know till you try,
But it’s no use. Just the pictures of the all too familiar items make him sick,. Even the shepherd’s pie, and that used to be his favorite.
He poked the “next page” and “previous page” buttons more out of habit than hope. They continued to make the distressed soft buzzer sound that normally meant he had reached the beginning or end of the menu and could go no further.
So I guess this is it now, he told himself for the millionth time.
Abruptly, The Man Who Will Kill Us All got up, grabbed a random book, and ran back to his bedroom to hide under the covers and read.
He did that because he was beginning to get angry, and he didn’t like it when he got angry. Alarms sounded, red lights flashed, loud angry voices came over the PA to sternly scold him in a language he did not speak.
Russian, maybe. But there was nothing about it in the files.
Worse than that, sometimes when he got mad (or one time, really scared), he felt this cold but intense energy building inside him and he was terrified of what would happen if he didn’t shut that down immediately.
It felt like it would kill him. This was true.
It felt like it would bring his sealed off little world to an end. This was also true.
But this was not how he would kill everyone. That would be something entirely different that had little bearing on why he had lived his entire life in a sealed off chamber in a forgotten bunker deep below a secret factory that had once been the headquarters of a project to dig the Deepest Hole in the World.
No, it would not be his intensly toxic and radioactive body that led to him becomin the Man Who Will Kill Everyone.
But he didn’t know that yet.
I ill talk to you nice people again tomorrow.