Journal, Diary, & Blogging / dear reader

Dear Reader,
Know, as you read this it doesn’t matter. Stop now. There is absolutely no point. If this letter was added to every book ever published from now until a future unknown, or a copy of it was added to every computer in existence, it wouldn’t matter. If this one letter influenced the whole of human evolution, each individual life from now until humanity ceases to exist, it still wouldn’t matter. It seems every second of every day is spent trying to leave some sort of mark, like history is a tree you can carve your initials into. And maybe it is, but history is nothing more then the human perception of time. And when there are no humans left to remember it’s the same as your tree never existing and even if it did, with your initials in it and all, it wouldn’t matter, because your initials wouldn’t mean anything because there would be no one to interpret them or give them meaning. Everything, down to the last inch of it, is in vain. And maybe if this quest that seems written into the DNA of every human ever born could somehow be ignored or forgotten, maybe then life would be worth it. Maybe then living and the enjoyment there of could be manageable. This collective unconscious manifest destiny that has been declared on time itself is driving me mad. The human incapability to understand or at least accept this finite existence is tearing the very fabric of perceivable reality apart. Nothing is clear anymore, no decision can be made definitively anymore because it is not possible to tell the difference from the individual desire and the socially prescribed desire. The difference between what I really like and what the world, the media, society, my friends, my family, tell me i like. It becomes a part of you to the point that you cant tell the difference anymore, between what is you and what is them. Until we are all just a variation on a theme. Lives spent trying to make the inevitability of death worth it. A life spent building a pyramid big enough to hold all of the stuff you never got to use because you were too busy building your burial mound. When did life become about defining death? Did we ever truly just live, or has it always been about not wanting to die? But like I said, this doesn’t matter because in the end, whether that be tomorrow or billions of eons from now, this will have been all for nothing.
Hopefully the future will see the utter importance of this and because of it this will be, as all other documents, unimportant. Because maybe then, in some distance place and time we will have learned how to live again, for ourselves.

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