mviper
schizoidcel
-
- Joined
- May 6, 2018
- Posts
- 212
That's what I call my apartment. The shed. It's not actually a shed, but I like to pretend it's a shed from a metaphorical perspective. I'm not deserving of anything better than a shed. So that's where I do my rotting. In my shed. I like to think I'm just in a single room shed with a wood stove for heat and metal bars on the sole window by the door. That's the shed my dad built one time. As a child, I remember warming myself by the wood stove as he worked on his motorcycle. I bet he never thought I'd end up being a complete failure in life and ending up as an incel.
I wonder how bad rotting was back in the old days without Internet access, for truecels. I bet they went insane a lot quicker, maybe resorted to a life of crime to find some purpose, just to get out of their shed and do something. Must have been exciting.
I bet I could probably go to sleep now, but I'm too bored of sleeping so I'm just going to stay awake. I feel like I don't have much time left. You ever get that feeling, like, you know you know life is going to be over soon? Maybe I'll die in my sleep. Or the cancer will be swift. Or I'll get hit by a bus the following day. I don't know, I just feel like it's about to be over. Another wasted life.
The blackness of space echoes like a tomb, yet the stars continue to shine. Why does it take so long for the sun to die? What's the purpose to all of this? Why do we rot? What is the existential truth behind rotting? Is there something to rotting that we aren't seeing? Something profound?
I wonder how bad rotting was back in the old days without Internet access, for truecels. I bet they went insane a lot quicker, maybe resorted to a life of crime to find some purpose, just to get out of their shed and do something. Must have been exciting.
I bet I could probably go to sleep now, but I'm too bored of sleeping so I'm just going to stay awake. I feel like I don't have much time left. You ever get that feeling, like, you know you know life is going to be over soon? Maybe I'll die in my sleep. Or the cancer will be swift. Or I'll get hit by a bus the following day. I don't know, I just feel like it's about to be over. Another wasted life.
The blackness of space echoes like a tomb, yet the stars continue to shine. Why does it take so long for the sun to die? What's the purpose to all of this? Why do we rot? What is the existential truth behind rotting? Is there something to rotting that we aren't seeing? Something profound?