Evil
We all suffer everyday.
This is my life story, just as yours is your story. In my life I am the protagonist, the persona, the lead actor in his biggest performance. And in your life, too, no one shares the spotlight with you.
And in our individual life stories, we all suffer everyday. We bleed, some parts of us are broken, some dreams are snatched from us and taken away; There are so many episodes of depression, desperation, misery, alienation.
We suffer everyday.
The worst times come when we finally get to corner ourselves and ask our very selves a most bothersome question: ‘What am I doing here?’ Of course, we could make up reasons for all throughout the duration of our lives, making a sense of purpose, or, even trying to fashion our existence according to the ways we dream our lives to be. But that ‘What am I doinghere?’ question would always be answered subjectively - according to how we wish such an answe to be. The sorrow lies when we realize that, because we can give an answer of our own conception, we can never be sure that our answer is the real and right one. Of course, with no God to appear before us and validate our claim (I mean, either you don’t believe in God or you do believe in Him but agrees to his reverent distance from our world), we are just as good as anything else in the universe. We can answer the question but it all ends there. And to think that Philosophers, Priests and Scientists have all sought to present us TRUTH!
I’ve tried to ask that questions countless times before. Of course, I’ve made up a dozen answers. But no answer seems potent enought to carry me through my life story, a suffering-based one. The questions remains in its core conception, but somehow I had it modified a little bit. Now I ask myself, ‘What the hell am I doing here?’
To which an Existensialist may answer, ‘You’re here because you’ve got no fucking choice!’
I still suffer everyday. Just like you do, just like everyone else. I suffer from the moment I wake, tot he moment I sleep. I am alone as I thread nameless paths and as I roam unlit corridors. The world is one big horror house to which the only escape route inevitably leads to death. Sure, there are good times, there are bad times, but I am so brave to proclaim that underneath it all is a very deadly and miserable formula for human existence crafted by someone whom we choose to call omnibenevolent. This suffering is the only (thing) I can really prove to exist. Well, debate on that. But really, but really, how else shall we put the human condition? In a sunshiny matter full of laughter and intimacy? Or is it a never-ending terror full of tears and angst and dread?
Maybe Kierkegaard was right. So was Nietzsche. But in the end it is this sadness that has caught up with them, as this sadness will definitely catch up on you and me. Or maybe not you. Maybe just for me. I dont know if it will catch you sometime. But if it does, there is no way to elude it. When you’re down and broken, I mean, existensially down and broken, no love song will ever make sense. No inspirational book will inspire you, no piece of advice or quotation from any holy book to uplift you. In the end you drown when you’re down.
Let us all take drugs and booze and smoke maryjanes and rape each other and fornicate and make love wildly and kill everyone and spare no one and cannibalize and feast on fresh blood and do everything so wildly, without thinking, without conscience, like the cults of Dionysius who have been so brave to enjoy the earth by simply letting their carnal passions show.
(I hate myself. Oh no my parents would kill me. Hehe.)
