Grab and Squeeze

I thought that moving into a new apartment I would have more of the feeling of making a move. I should know that feeling well enough by now; only once in my life have I lived in the same location for more than two years.

This time around, moving back to a town I'd already lived in, to the same apartment complex in a unit with the exact same layout, it felt more like coming home.

I'm hoping the fact that my roommate this time around has some ambition to actually do something with himself will rub off on me. More importantly, his indecisive-but-planning trait plays well off of my fuck-it-let's-do-it characteristic, so we should actually have some fun that doesn't involve a keyboard or D-pad.

Being a bit of an asshole to him, I realized that I will have to show minimal self-restraint in what I say. Generally, he's the type that if you point out something completely honest despite the brutality of it, he'll think about it and not hold any hostility over something that is simply true. If you point out the rhyme and reason of why he's doing something detrimental to him, he isn't one to deny it outwardly. He will realize what you're saying is true and accept it. If he doesn't like that truth, he will form at least a small intent to change things rather than rationalize them.

There are, however, some things that people lie to themselves about because they are fully aware of what the truth is and do not wish to seek change. Sometimes, something is inherent in a person and despite how self-damaging that thing might be, the person cups and cradles it and lashes out, eventually, against anything that challenges that aspect of their persona.

I've always had a keen eye for these characteristics of people coupled with the ability to push the right buttons in the right order so that I'm able to step, very briefly, one pace beyond the lines they draw. In this case, that would not be advantageous in the least. Minimal self-control.

My bedroom is already starting to look like a normal human's bedroom, and as such my mind is already nowhere near being on the things inside the walls of it at any point.

Like a normal human's.

P-chan took a sideways thrust at me a little while back saying something to the effect of 'we mere mortals.' I reminded her that it was not I, but she, who based her life and morals on the belief that a body was merely a shell for an eternally enduring soul. She preached that. Not me. Fuck those glancing scratches, just grab the throat and squeeze.

It's one of the few things that can get me angry, supremely so, and very quickly. When people mock the off-centre things that I say one of two things happens. I either agree with them, as I no longer agree with what I said at a certain point, or my blood grows hot and any mote of mercy that might manifest itself in me fades to nothing.

I really can't understand why, though, because the vast majority of the time I can decimate anything they might have said in one sentence. I guess it's hard for me to understand why someone would question something that I can plainly see as unquestionably true when the "facts" they base their own lives on are evanescent droplets from a fetid pool of lies and insolence.

What else is new, though. People hate and laugh at what's different and relish in the fact that they've pulled wool over their own eyes so long as it was woven by the mainstream.

On the same note, there's a cliche that states genius and insanity are only a hair's breadth apart. Weighing my mental state during a drive, it hit me how inaccurate the saying is. My expertise is very vertical and I'm all in all not very bright. I can be perceived as such because my talents lie in literature and linguistics, but the facts are that I am not very smart and am by all means very average in my intelligence.

Meanwhile, I am certainly certifiably insane in the most literal sense of the definition. It's hard coming to terms with the realization that you're a somewhat stupid non-human, and I haven't quite done so yet. But, in time, my apathy will kick in and it will make no difference in my outward actions.

I don't want to continue going to school but it looks like I'm in for as much as five more years. It's become difficult to find any passions. The daily routine of working to enable a society where others of the future can work makes no sense. It doesn't matter in the slightest which nation is strongest because all are trapped on the same earth, and it doesn't matter how quickly or slowly that earth is destroyed because all the humans are doing anyway is working and having children to work after them.

I'll get up and go to whatever job that won't make any difference at all and then come home and waste time doing things that don't matter until I pass out and do it again. Doing the job well or poor doesn't, in the long run, matter. In order to not make a difference I have to spend another five years of my life studying things that will not change my skill or broaden my knowledge whatsoever.

I tried out the jobs that I thought I wanted. I tried out the jobs that I thought I could care about. But in the end, I don't care about the race or how much or little I contribute to humanity. I just want it to die off and be over with so it can stop fucking up the plantlife.

It's become difficult, again, to find something to live for. Doubly so when the only thing that ever completed me found me to be utterly replaceable. It's a stark reality that, in fact, I am just that -- utterly replaceable.

Mediocre in nearly every aspect with the unshakable belief that if I can't be the best, I'd rather not even be amongst the contenders. That said, it's worth pointing out that there's a difference between losing at something you might eventually win and losing at something you will always be a loser in.

The temptation when my body starts shutting down and seizing to simply not give it the hydration and food it needs and let it finish its wicked work is one that's hard to resist.

I contribute nothing. Humanity contributes nothing. It's depressing to wake up every day, breathing, being alive, and looking in the mirror to find out that I'm still one of those disgusting animals. It's little incentive to be the best at something in an empire of fools.

So I come to the question that is posed by so very many: what is the meaning of my life, if it has one? Not all life, but mine specifically. It seems obvious that it is not to contribute, perpetuate, father, love. It seems that it might simply be to bring about in others the realization that the answer to the question of meaning is simply nothing.

This could be the birth of a beautiful tragedy.