I've never been able to keep a diary or journal, not really. It always seemed so... Egotistical? There's nothing about me or my life that's worth essentially dedicating a book to. My thoughts and doings are not so grand. Certainly they have value to me, as is the case with all, I suppose. But apart from that, they're just more existentially meaningless dross.
At first glance, a blog would appear to be a digital equivalent. But for myself, it is not so.
It is a screaming into the void, a metaphorical release via a physically dimensionless pathway. No one is reading this, no one cares, and there's no secrets-to-be-unveiled moment should anyone happen upon it. There's a vastness of freedom in that. And in the relative anonymity.
Today, my misanthropy was more prominent than usual. In part because most of my day was spent in a dissociative disregulated state that came without warning. Another part due an intrinsically upsetting interaction with another faceless, worthless and empty shell of a vain human. Totally convinced of their superiority and rightness, to an almost comical degree. I get so tired of these people, assured of their own value and merit, never questioning it despite the blatant lack thereof. What need does the world have of yet another in a historically long line of primitive apes? The kind that are like a concrete foundation, built up by those who are sure it is the best form, failing to recognize that it's rigidity is it's certain and eventual downfall. Failing to think enough to understand that a lack of flexibility will cause it to not only fall, but crumble into pieces and dust that will never be whole again after.
I'm tired of the emotionally immature, their worldview so easily threatened by a simple assertion or opinion of a stranger. Why rail against me? It changes nothing. You will still be insignificant and afraid at the end.
amandla
stormborns
origamiaround
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
gamechangershow
