quote: (post)

Originally posted by walshy
OHHHH YA BEAUTAYYY WHAT A HIT SON. WHAT. A. HIT.

quote: (post)

Originally posted by Scrivvle
I've thought long and hard on 'what I am' and I think I have figured it out in the most succinct terms: an incredibly self-aware piece of shit


Everything I do feels pre-programmed and I'm just acting out my orders. I don't think I have free will. I can see everything from every single angle... I can choose to believe whatever I like because none of it matters or means anything... but I can't choose to do whatever I believe in. I don't do good, I only do evil, by "choice". I'm severely alone and wouldn't want to put the burden on anyone else anyway. I know what I am, which is, effectively, nothing, a kind of blank dot, white on white, or just transparent, I suppose. Everything I feel is numbed, other than the bad bits, which is most of it, and that's numbed anyway. But all the good stuff is so distant it may as well not be there. I know it exists in concept, that's about it... I'm just so aware of everything around me and I choose to not choose because I can't choose. It's like I don't ****ing know being bound and gagged whilst invisible demons fill me full of hellfire semen and repeatedly impregnate with me with new, boring ways to be useless and degenerate. I'm tired and bored of living within society's rules and yet I can't envision myself without structure. I don't have a special place or a unique outlook, I'm eclipsed by every great mind in history, even that happening right now. This is all bad prose, and derivative... of... idk, something. These are not my words. They're someone else's. I'm just typing and out it comes. Can I stop? Sure, maybe, but maybe the choice to not stop wouldn't be mine anyway. It all just repeats again / again / etc. It's all so tiresome. I can't see myself in the mirror, I never have. Just a weird blank eyeless mask staring back, as if to say, who the **** are you, and why are you here? Well, why am I here? What purpose does any of this serve? Are we within a watch or just an ever-mutating abyss of silly chaos? Is there a meaning within me? I can answer that one: no, certainly not. But I still go on. Again, again, etc. God, it's all so worthless.