contagonist

Tonight I find myself in the throes of medication withdrawal, eating a pseudo-stale baguette and wallowing in my own despair. The origins of which, (not the baguette or withdrawal,) consistently points me toward my own lack of purpose - of meaning - for why I still cling to life, in all of it’s insignificance and futility. Surely, we wretched roaches crawling all over our little moldy rock adrift in a vacuum should do something that transcends our own petty ambitions and designs. Or are we a result of random chance? A sort of small scale madness within a large scale madness expanding into the tranquil oblivion of the rest of space. This is the first despair-inducing decision I cannot make sound judgement on due to lack of information greater than the strangeness force-fed me from my five senses. Were we made, for a purpose, for an end result, or were we an accident made from an accident made from an accident ad nauseum? There are parts of me that wish for the former, and others for the latter, and still more others switching their opinion depending on which shard of consciousness is presenting the most sound argument at the time. All of these small parts prevent a ossified cosmic world view.

Even if I put aside my own mental schism and focus on a personal life purpose, what the hell should I devote myself to? The petty pursuit of pleasure? A higher calling to assist my fellow man, (notice I said man, as I can barely wrap my head around the desires of the XY population, much less those tumultuous yearnings of the fairer sex,)?
Or the exaltation of a singular ideal? Even of those three, which are by no measure an exhaustive list, I cannot decide! And of what higher cause or ideal should I devote myself to? Truth, Justice, and the American Way? Even then, the contemporary American Way perverts Justice and obscures Truth. Why, people are substantially reimbursed to obscure truth and pervert justice, and not just in America. Indeed, the contagiousness of blasphemy against honesty so permeates every single wretched what-ever-the-hell-we-are that it cannot be anything but an integral component of our being, much like hemoglobin or a rib-cage. Deception is central component of our anatomy.

And in the end, what does it matter? Will our parent star cease exploding if something were to happen to any and all humans? Will the universe cease to expand? Will Pluto suddenly decide to jump into Alpha Centauri’s orbit because Richard ceases relations with women and decides to suck dicks, much to the chagrin to the two who spawned him? It seems out insignificance is dwarfed only by the sheer vastness or the rest of the universe.

I find it particularly difficult to express the depth and width of my hatred for the few things I truly hate.

I know full damn well that I am not alone in hating Valentines Day. As a matter of fact, I may have the least of reasons to dislike February 14th.

Now, before I continue, I would like to make known that throughout my life, it seems as if anyone with XX chromosomes must become irate and nearly violent if they need to suffer my company. And when they are not within my immediate vicinity, I can hear their whispers, giggles, and other indignities directed towards myself. And they know damn well that I can hear them.

Some years ago I met with a reasonably attractive female peer, exchanged phone numbers, and later arranged what is normally called a 'date'. During said date, after considerable personal expense, she rejects me for a modern neanderthal, (this is the most accurate term I could use to describe him.) With an air of calm, I arranged for her transport and left for home on foot.

Because she did not immediately revile me, I thought that I might have had a chance at a romantic relationship. Unfortunately, I was dead wrong. In the wake of this, I realized what love was, at least from observation: an elaborate, mutual deception for the purpose of harvesting resources. Both parties 'court', whereas they establish whether or not their 'partner' has something desirable, or prospecting, if you will. Then they become 'intimate', whereas the involved parties dig into each other, learning the strengths and weaknesses of each other. Then comes 'romance', where they harvest from each other for emotional resources at great risk. Eventually, the resources deplete, they collapse, and the relationship ends.

These sought after resources include, but are not limited to, emotional support, slave labor, easy money, and other things that garner my disgust. The worst of these being emotional support: for someone to willingly weaken themselves by expressing their emotions for a quick shot of encouragement, figuratively leaving the door wide open for invasion and exploitation. It is through these emotional connections that individuals practically give the reigns for themselves to any who would take the time to pick them up. Actually, a better analogy would be that of a marionette, with emotional strings attached hither and thither, just waiting for a puppeteer.

This year, I wanted to 'celebrate' Valentines day by purchasing a shotgun and ammunition, attempting to beat Seung-Hui Cho's high score, and then blowing my skull into little bits and pieces, which would probably make a great Halloween treat for cannibals and neuron-consuming aliens.

But, strangely, unemployment saved the day! Be thankful for the fact that no employer would touch me with a ten foot pole!

Greetings and salutations! I will be henceforth be known here, on Livejournal, as contagonist. I will endeavor not to divulge my personal gripes and grievances and inadvertently bore you with the details of my life. Much rather, I will post herein mostly samples of my fiction, short stories, and opinions that I feel should be plastered haphazardly on the internet.