Born To Pay

I do not hate life. This might seem contrary to much that I have written over the past year, but it is true: I do not hate life itself. I do consider it futile, without purpose, and have many complaints, as I have been making abundantly clear. But despite the fact that I hold no hatred for life itself, I do despise my existence. I loathe being alive in this society, in this time. And, as I have stated many times, I thoroughly detest mankind. Man, and the society it has created, ruin it for me. And there is no place to go. The least unspoiled natural wonders and peaceful environments are inaccessible to me for a variety of reasons, not least among them the financial obstacle. 

There are moments when life truly seems good, despite everything, but it never lasts. When I am lying on my back on a pier, my eyes conjuring up shapes in the clouds, my face taking in the warm rays of the sun, and my ears feasting on the gentle sound of water lapping the shore and the songs of birds, I can almost imagine this is all there is to life. But then a single thought of the shitty job or the countless rules and procedures that constitute the wretched bureaucracy, or about the cities and the self-serving, spoiled, antlike humans swarming all around, devouring the planet and all other life, all disdainfully living like royalty and blind to their wretchedness, shatters the dream and turns my stomach, and I know I will never be happy in this world, in this despicable society in 2012, bound to certain behaviour by all those rules, trapped in a concrete cage and between millions of others I am loathe to call my kind, safe but bored to death, my stunted adventurous spirit crippled at birth by the rigidity of modern life and further dulled by the depressing and trivial demands of work and life itself.

I do not hate life, truly I don't, but to life in this society, in this time, death seems infinitely more preferable.

It is possible if you find yourself in such a situation, I guess, to withdraw and still have a quiet life you kind of like, keeping away as much as possible from the obnoxious people—the walking clichés—and hanging out with the few you do like, jumping and suffering through the bureaucratic hoops and dealing with all the other shit as best you can in the meantime, as I have been doing, actually leading something akin to a hermit's life, I suppose. There is one crucial problem with this scheme, however: without money you cannot do anything, not even live a quiet and cheap semi-hermit's life. And if even the thought of work nauseates you so much it reduces you to a sorry pile of tears, you will soon run out of options.  

I just know money is going to kill me. It might be in a couple of weeks or months, or perhaps I will last for a few more years, though I can't quite imagine this. But to actively seek work, to actively look to do something you detest, the only reward being to continue to live in this society, in a world you hate, and acting contrary to your beliefs and values in the process (lying, dressing up in clothes that feel alien to you, generally not being yourself), not to mention doing the work itself when at last you find it and are appalled . . . it is too much to bear. I simply cannot do it. If such are the things you need to do to continue to live in this society, then maybe it would just be for the best to cease to exist. I should never have been born in this time, in this country. Perhaps I should never have been born at all—was I always going to end up like this, or was it merely the course of events shaping my life and my mind in this manner that destroyed me? I am still here, yes, but I am merely a bomb with what feels like a five-minute timer that has just barely reset a couple of times, though is still continuously counting down, and the tick-tick-tick constantly reminds me of my impending doom. I have no faith in being defused, and I am sorry for this—I would truly have liked things to be different—but I am sorrier still I cannot rearm myself using enriched uranium, to purge from this planet the homo sapien disease and to give the earth another chance. 

I feel I have enough sadness and anger inside of me to explode the world. It seems, however, it will be just me that will implode, external forces always battling with the internal ones, never relenting, the battle only creating more and more suffering and despair with each passing day, until finally, someday soon, the tentative equilibrium can exist no more, and all will come to a crashing end, to the detriment of all who love me. I wish it could be any other way, but as I evaluate my situation anew each day I come to the same conclusion time and time again: it is money that will be my downfall. But isn't it better to perish than to continue the terrible struggle, day in, day out, to no discernable end?