This is my life, philosopher. Do you like my life?
Do you think you could crack, like a piece of crockery?
How can you put an end to all this, philosopher? Put an end to everything. How can you get this stuff to STOP?
Are we going to save each other? Is that possible? Are we going to help one another? Are you going to help me?
Help you what – die?
Who’s doing it to us?: that’s what I want to know. And what are they doing? What, exactly? What is it? What’s happening? In all its dimensions? What is it that they want?
We’re lost in someone’s dream. Not our dream. We’re lost in what someone wants for us. Someone wicked.
This isn’t our world, is it? This isn’t even our dream. This isn’t our sleep.
This isn’t who we are. These aren’t our lies. These aren’t our lives. Someone dreamt this all up. We don’t belong here. To this. This isn’t our world. We’re not part of this.
On the threshold of … what? On the edge of … what? Are we asking the same things? About the same things? Are we caught up in the same question? Does the same thing ask itself through us both? Does it want the same thing in us?
These are the kind of things that I say to myself. Like, privately. I speak out loud to myself sometimes. Questions, questions. Or maybe they’re prayers …
Do you think I’m disturbed? What have I been disturbed by? What happened to me? Did it happen to you? Am I fucked up, or just philosophical? Are you fucked up, too?
Solitude, philosopher. How alone are you? Can you share what you think? With your colleagues? Can you share what you feel? Do they feel it too? Do they feel what you do?
Do you feel what I feel? Do you feel it? Do you know it?
Something bigger than us. Something greater than us. Something horrible.
That’s poisoning us. And lying to us. And lying through us.
And who’s going to save us from all this? And what’s going to save us?
Do you feel the evil? That word: evil. Are we allowed to call things evil anymore? But some things are evil, aren’t they?
How do we fight it? How do we resist? How do we escape this?
We don’t escape.
Are we damned, philosopher? What does that word mean: damned? Who would use a word like that: damned? Only a mad person. Or a religious person. All the real words have to come from religion now. They’re the only words that will suffice.
So evil – so, so evil. I sense it. I know it’s real. They have plans for us – terrible plans. They’ll destroy us. Worse.
What could be worse?
All this is an abomination. None of this should be. God knows that, doesn’t he?
So he should put us out of our misery, philosopher. Destroy us all. And not just because we’re going to absorb the humanities, or whatever.
Why is there evil? Why is there anything? Who does the screaming belong to? Who makes the sound of screaming?
I’m tired of dying. Why are we always dying?
Work in Progress 