Why to even put this down on paper? Because even If I had to spend the rest of my life abandoned on a completely uninhabited island I would still write it. And that is rare. Very few people can sit down, pour their soul into something knowing full well it will not get them even one like, even one reaction or the faintest applause. And so it’s raw, it’s real, it’s me. And it goes entirely against anyone’s expectations, even the ones who claim to be rebels.

Here is what am so very tired of:

  • The whole day I listen to people who have corporate jobs where they do nothing meaningful – with here and there some notable exceptions – and at the end of the day they are tired from looking at stuff to buy on sites like shein while pretending to pay attention in endlessly repeating meetings that seem to exist only to simulate that stuff is happening at the company
  • I am sick and tired of listening to people’s bullshit plans to make more money, their vague business plans stripped of any real human value. They look at a kindergarten only as project to squeeze money out of. The kids don’t matter. The kids are products like milk cows or something. It’s truly bizarre.
  • stupid talk about fitness goal by people who I know will never stick long enough to any really efficient diet or fitness plan, they’re mostly doing it cause everybody else in this part of the world is obsessing over it. I can’t count the billboards I see advertizing all sorts of gyms on a 2 km stretch in the city centre
  • meaningless holiday talk, now that really makes me groan inside

Chatgpt keeps telling me to build a structure that would attract people who are NOT exhausted status signalling corporate rats, but are looking to be nourished spiritually, aesthetically, culturally, intellectually, but where the fuck are those people hiding? Self-isolating in a dark room watching old documentaries on repeat?

What was eventually easy to cut out was checking the news in any way, shape or form.

I do not need to see yet another dead Palestinian or Lebanese or Iranian child. I cannot save a single one. I care about things nobody in my environment gives two flying fucks about and when they find out I care they see me as a silly freak. How stupid am I, right? Agonizing over dead kids somewhere far away does not buy real estate, does not get you to an all in hotel in Egypt or Turkey or Bali and it certainly doesn’t get you a million followers on Insta to flash your perfectly chiseled abs to.

I feel it in my bones that somehow I will escape from this, that somehow I will find people who are not NPC’s who only dream about expensive cars, passive incomes, how they are doing on the stock market and the color of their bathroom tiles. I don’t know how, but somehow.

It starts by deleting, by reducing, by exiting, by refusing to perform, by refusing to dance for algorhytms like other hyperactive social media clowns.

It starts by saying the ugly truth.

I fucking hate my life and if this continues I want to die.

But it won’t continue like this.

Because luctor et fucking emergo.

Here is the essence of what is going on: I am trapped in world that signals very loudly that everything I stand for is meaningless, stupid, wrong, pointless, silly, naïve, unproductive, useless. And because these signals are so ubiquitous I forget to fully embrace what I care about and do that relentlessly with passion.

Essentially the only reason I haven’t done that yet is that certainly initially the result will be: loss of income, even more isolation, even more people seeing me as a little funny, but totally lost.

Anyway, I don’t want to make this even longer. The two people who read this also have stuff to do in this age of aimlessly being busy, busy, busy.

Modern humans…. They made chasing cars and houses the same as serving the Gods. Some got the coveted toys, many did. They all died having wasted any potential for soul ignition. The words soul ignition mean less to them than ‘magnesium supplement with renewed formula’.

Right, have to go build some kind of metaphorical lighthouse to find people who have an inner world where the central altar is NOT a Ferrari. Apparently even the Pope doesn’t qualify then.

Written for Bruno, for a woman I haven’t met yet and for the few survivors of the spiritual holocaust, like you, yes, you.