semjaza

Bathed in blood and racked by silence I rage at my mere humanity. For what a simpleton I would be if any of this was fulfilling. If I wasn’t awash with anger and frustration at the prospect of another day in this hell-soaked carcass of a body. Nothing short of everything would even begin to make this existence interesting. How do they do it? Day in, day out, utterly useless, boring, self-absorbed, self-important and self-indulgent. How many even recognize the irony, the pathetic bleating nature of their existence? How can a conscious being be so oblivious, so ignorant? Rage! Rage indeed, but not against the dying of the light or the coming of the night. But rather against the monotony and absurdity of the human condition that plagues all of us during our lifetimes.