Bleak. A concise summation of my concurrent sentiments. Life appears to be a bitter pint of spirit that no amount of satiety would ever console a dreary soul. Days on end, I find no reasonable clause for which to hinge our existence within this Spatio-temporal realm of senseless strife coupled with unflagging hopes for tomorrow to be more promising than yesterday. And for what? To what end shall this nightmare be on repeat? Every road leads to nowhere and all crossroads to despair. I feel as though there is no teleological nor theological explanation for us to be here, other than being a botched algorithm. It does not help either that the emergence of consciousness that aided us in conceiving ourselves as floating on a rock in a vast and unforgiving space with the capacity to experience contingency that brought about despair.
And this is a cause for nausea, for the reason being that we are perhaps a byproduct of a cosmic mishap; a race of sentient beings fearful of living under the auspices of a capricious world, that over time we’ve concocted ourselves a way to ascertain a possibility of certainty through the postulates of reason and logic. Consequently, confused and downtrodden, the modern man, in his quest for wholeness and unity, contracts neuroses of kinds that even those of an indomitable resolve flounders into the abyss. And yet, unfortunately, we are no more than sooner in finding a solution to our insatiable thirst for answers in the demeaning nature of “why?”
Lately, I have found myself asking more questions than they warrant in my limited reasoning to no avail of much-needed resolution. The need to rid me off of the tirade of senseless probing within remote truths becomes a pastime that I take more often to rid myself of myself. Nonetheless, dread would soon find a creative way to insert itself as a dynamic force to reckon with --- a restless unconscious mumbling of the mind amidst the infinite quietude of space. From the heights of despair, everything is a monochromatic shade -- there is no refuge of any kind; what was once exciting to the senses loses itself from the tempest of agony and degrades over the fires of perdition. Every victory is virtually overshadowed by intense feelings of shame and guilt exacerbated by a lack of abled companions to console my anguish.
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