Why this constant urge to tell yourself that things will be better? Things will not be; they are only meant to grow worse.
One of the biggest misconceptions of our age is that when you grow up, you'll be able to do things according to your wish, your own free will. I bet my bottom dollar that you've realized it today: nothing could be further from the truth. Its all a big, frickin' trap meant to take down one person at a time. And guess what, the trap is designed like a vicious cycle: reminds of that legendary Eagles song, "Hotel California"... more specifically, the legendary lines -
"You can check out anytime you like,
But you can never leave."
Its a constant, never-ending fight against this trap out of which you won't come out alive. And time and again, you'll be so fed up of fighting that the (in)famous demon called the Existential Crisis will impose its will on you. And when that happens, there's no absolutely nothing in your past, present or future that you do not question. They'll tell you that such a crisis is good for you and leads you to clarity. Next time that happens, tell them that's the biggest piece of bullshit you've ever heard of. Nothing good ever came out of an existential crisis. That's a fact which is going to remain one for aeons to come.
All that an existential crisis ever leads to is procrastination. Don't mistake it for the happy kind of procrastination that they show so artfully in all those pirated versions of sitcoms you download through torrents every week: where friends sit together and crack random jokes and have loads of beer and munch on mouth-watering fast food. You don't need me to tell you all of it is scripted; every Tom, D**k, Harry and their grandmothers know it is another version of the same trap.
This is the sad kind of procrastination where you sit alone with a limited amount of cheap hard liquor and an incomplete pack of cigarettes without filters. And so much goes on in your tiny, useless head that you feel zonked out. You stop trusting every relationship - friend, foe, love etc. - that you ever forged and want to break free of all of them. You tell yourself that all you'll ever be able to do is to limit the immensity of the f**k people do not give about you. And you wallow in self-pity about all the work you've ever done and realize none of it can be called work rightfully.
And then you raise the volume on the Radiohead song creating ripples through your already zonked head and before you know, you pass out... only to wake up to another gloomy morning of Existential Crisis.
One of the biggest misconceptions of our age is that when you grow up, you'll be able to do things according to your wish, your own free will. I bet my bottom dollar that you've realized it today: nothing could be further from the truth. Its all a big, frickin' trap meant to take down one person at a time. And guess what, the trap is designed like a vicious cycle: reminds of that legendary Eagles song, "Hotel California"... more specifically, the legendary lines -
"You can check out anytime you like,
But you can never leave."
Its a constant, never-ending fight against this trap out of which you won't come out alive. And time and again, you'll be so fed up of fighting that the (in)famous demon called the Existential Crisis will impose its will on you. And when that happens, there's no absolutely nothing in your past, present or future that you do not question. They'll tell you that such a crisis is good for you and leads you to clarity. Next time that happens, tell them that's the biggest piece of bullshit you've ever heard of. Nothing good ever came out of an existential crisis. That's a fact which is going to remain one for aeons to come.
All that an existential crisis ever leads to is procrastination. Don't mistake it for the happy kind of procrastination that they show so artfully in all those pirated versions of sitcoms you download through torrents every week: where friends sit together and crack random jokes and have loads of beer and munch on mouth-watering fast food. You don't need me to tell you all of it is scripted; every Tom, D**k, Harry and their grandmothers know it is another version of the same trap.
This is the sad kind of procrastination where you sit alone with a limited amount of cheap hard liquor and an incomplete pack of cigarettes without filters. And so much goes on in your tiny, useless head that you feel zonked out. You stop trusting every relationship - friend, foe, love etc. - that you ever forged and want to break free of all of them. You tell yourself that all you'll ever be able to do is to limit the immensity of the f**k people do not give about you. And you wallow in self-pity about all the work you've ever done and realize none of it can be called work rightfully.
And then you raise the volume on the Radiohead song creating ripples through your already zonked head and before you know, you pass out... only to wake up to another gloomy morning of Existential Crisis.
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