A Paranoid Pessimist’s Future
A satirical look at whether there really is a reason to live anymore
Screw you, World. What’s the point of living?
I’ve been wondering this for longer than CD players have been a thing. And then I was tagged by this poet Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她) who wanes all philosophical about the future as finite.
“the future” by Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她) https://link.medium.com/2e8Mc8bNtfb
Finite? Doesn’t she know that our souls transfer into the first living creature to touch our rotting corpse?
That’s why there are so many maggots embracing human consciousness, after all. And it’s also why I don’t eat roadkill. It may be so freshly smucked that I suddenly have a squirrel hanging out in my head.
I’ve gotten off-topic, sorry. I guess she got me thinking about how “precious” life is supposed to be.
Precious? Like those statues of Aryan children who make me want to vomit my hillbilly homebrew all over their cherub cheeks?
What about how precious it isn’t? Because if life is so darn precious, I want to ask, why aren’t we…
