Too much consciousness. Too much awareness. Too much time to think – is that it? Too much life. We’re too awake.
We’re alert, but what for? We’re open-eyed, but what for? What is it that requires our vigilance?
We’re alive, but why? For what purpose? How do we use life? What do we do with it: life?
This can’t be called life, can it?
Life, in search of life. Life, missing life. We’re looking for life. That’s what life’s for. We’re searchers.
Is that what we should be doing with our time? Is that what our time’s for?
It’s, like, time-abuse. The abuse of our lives. Of our life-force.
What is it that really matters? That matters most? Isn’t that the question?
Instead, it’s just doom spirals. Self-hatred spirals. All our energies turned against ourselves.
We need to be reduced. Expunged. Punished. We have to loathe ourselves into oblivion. Undergo our own, private apocalypses.
Work in Progress 