fvolkek
Diamond
- Joined
- Feb 19, 2021
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The passage of time, a relentless and unyielding force, does not invoke within me a feeling of fear. Rather, it is the transient nature of existence, the fleeting and illusory perception of motion that consciousness imbues upon the world, that gives me pause. Ageing, though a natural and inevitable process, has never been a source of dread for me, as I have never harboured a desire to remain in a state of perpetual juvenility. Even death, though a universal and inescapable eventuality, does not fill me with terror, though I am not yet fully prepared to confront it.
What truly fills me with an abject sense of foreboding is the prospect of reaching a state of adult maturity, one in which I must toil ceaselessly each day in order to fulfil the demands of taxation, often providing funding for the nefarious endeavours of corrupt politicians, while also procuring the basic necessities of life for my domestic dwelling. I envision returning home, drained and haggard from the day's labours, flipping on the television to the last channel I viewed, a news outlet espousing a similar political ideology to my own, and becoming embittered by the distorted reality they propagate. I cook without enthusiasm, rueing the mistakes of my past and the missed opportunities that haunt me.
I find myself seated in a state of silent despondency, ruminating on how every plan I devise ends in failure or a mere scrawl on paper; how each year and each breath seem shorter and less ardent, and how each day brings me closer to the ultimate finality. It is this scenario that keeps me awake at night, overwhelmed by my errors and haunted by my missteps.
What truly fills me with an abject sense of foreboding is the prospect of reaching a state of adult maturity, one in which I must toil ceaselessly each day in order to fulfil the demands of taxation, often providing funding for the nefarious endeavours of corrupt politicians, while also procuring the basic necessities of life for my domestic dwelling. I envision returning home, drained and haggard from the day's labours, flipping on the television to the last channel I viewed, a news outlet espousing a similar political ideology to my own, and becoming embittered by the distorted reality they propagate. I cook without enthusiasm, rueing the mistakes of my past and the missed opportunities that haunt me.
I find myself seated in a state of silent despondency, ruminating on how every plan I devise ends in failure or a mere scrawl on paper; how each year and each breath seem shorter and less ardent, and how each day brings me closer to the ultimate finality. It is this scenario that keeps me awake at night, overwhelmed by my errors and haunted by my missteps.
