Diary of a Sad Man

It is all (a) dream; neither good nor bad – just a hyper-inflating referential labyrinth of recursively self-gravitating emptiness. The mental abstractions and grammatical rules upon which we have built an entire Global civilisation (such as it is) are really nothing much more that the self-inflected introspection through which our own diverse ways of life self-propagate. Physics is similarly a self-inflected and meaningless fact of autonomously self-propagating logic. What exists, exists without any necessity for ourselves and all of our vainglorious aspirations; we are all in this way mere footnotes to a blindly-unknowing reality and beyond that value that we ourselves assert, it is quite probable that none exists.

Love is an attractive hope or locus for meaning, but it is problematised by the complex semantic mess of experience, memory and culture; compassion possesses authentic utilitarian and emotional value but it remains on the whole completely and utterly conspicuous by it’s absence in our world. These are bleak thoughts, but reality seems quite bleak to me at the moment.

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