(no subject)
Life is ending, soon. There's nothing to write, because there is nothing that I do. That has turned into me being nothing that is. I believe that because I did not fulfil my purpose and do my job in this world, that the world is now falling apart, and it's too late and too big to stop it now, even if I did do something. The more time goes on without having done the things I was meant to do, the more apart this world breaks down. Although I can see an apocalyptic scenario to which I could still rise up and do my thing and change it all around - and at this point, that's exactly what would have to happen due to the vast momentum that the current dire state of this world has become a force I can't reckon with - I lose passion and energy with each passing minute of my life. My state is such that I have to admit to aging, or at least, weakening. I have mystery ailments that keep me too down and too tired to try, and some of them, I've likely had all of my life.
I have some notable things coming up. I have had some notable things that passed. I have some notable things that are happening right now, but I'm not writing about any of it, here or otherwise. There's an element of "who the fuck cares" to all of it, that might otherwise upset me if I felt the will to feel it instead of concede to it. I feel the nothing that I am, entirely. It doesn't seem like reality to me to really believe this, but it feels like complete reality within the eyes of the world that I refuse to contribute.
Maybe something enormous will happen to prompt my movement. But, if it's not soon, it may not matter at all. My abilities are lessening, and I am diminishing (from the nothing that I already was). Time has found its way to creep into my blood and bones and joints and muscles, in all ways including psychological, and beginning to insist that I call it aging. If you are coming, come. Otherwise, and this seems more likely as predicted decades ago, life is ending soon.
I have some notable things coming up. I have had some notable things that passed. I have some notable things that are happening right now, but I'm not writing about any of it, here or otherwise. There's an element of "who the fuck cares" to all of it, that might otherwise upset me if I felt the will to feel it instead of concede to it. I feel the nothing that I am, entirely. It doesn't seem like reality to me to really believe this, but it feels like complete reality within the eyes of the world that I refuse to contribute.
Maybe something enormous will happen to prompt my movement. But, if it's not soon, it may not matter at all. My abilities are lessening, and I am diminishing (from the nothing that I already was). Time has found its way to creep into my blood and bones and joints and muscles, in all ways including psychological, and beginning to insist that I call it aging. If you are coming, come. Otherwise, and this seems more likely as predicted decades ago, life is ending soon.