Why am I writing? I don't know.
As time flies by and I make an attempt to live a "fulfilled" life I realize I am empty. My mind is an endless void, spiraling infinitely further through this confusing reality. I have no belief and only the awareness of my mortal self. One day I will die. When I die I will either simply stop thinking and my body will be left to decay, or I will continue as a conscious entity somewhere else as my body still is left to decay. I find humor in that. There is something fascinatingly comical about life being so obviously cruel and simple. The choice I make now is to continue on instead of hanging myself from that tree over there. Death is definitely something I think I want to avoid for the next fifty years or so. When I can't hold my poop in, forget where I am all the time, and my body aches to the point that I can't enjoy walking I think I may just off myself. Maybe with a bullet in my brain, maybe a leap from somewhere high, or even better an overdose of my prescription medication. The power of choice. Ultimately I will probably end up taking the traditional road of sedation and bed ridden bliss, until my last breath. Poetically common. Mortal life continuing to be guided by its strongest and most powerful instinct..survival.
The next step is what do I do with all this physical mumbo jumbo for the next fifty or so years. Continue to devise my plan for world domination, wanting that which I cannot have, drinking beer, and smoking poison with my friends of course. The wonders of young adult hood. God save the queen. I need to find a woman.
Peace lol
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