Imagine a life where you have never been great at anything, never felt the urge to be great at anything, never felt that magnetic admiration to someone who was great at something, wanted to imitate and ultimately defeat him. Just nothing. Literally all you do in life is exist. Occupy space. Pass the time. You're a chick.
You're bored, as usual, tweeting about your fucking hair and not even feeling any kind of happiness from it, just soothing your constant need to be bitter and cunty and petty toward other women. Every single thing you've done in the past year was mundane, shallow, and boring. You spent the last six hours reading kinda-interesting stories about people who made fun interesting Halloween hats for their kids or some stupid bullshit that you think is interesting and you may say is interesting but you're not really sure if it's really interesting. You're just fucking sitting there, gestating, fermenting, with a moist hole between your legs that guarantees you'll at least never have to get up and move around and work to support yourself.
And then you see men, over in some corner, having fun. You've never seen this before. What are they even doing? Instead of their consciousnesses merely sitting in their thick skull and revolving around itself, they are imbuing their conscious energy and intentionality into external objects, crafts, goals, projects. All the bitterness and cuntiness you feel nonstop seems to be absent, as they congratulate each other for being victorious, and happily learn from someone who defeated them. These creatures are truly content to be alive. They have found purpose in a purposeless universe.
And your gaze turns back on itself, on yourself, and you realize you've never had that. You can never have it. You're just a stupid cunt.
So you get up, you walk over there, and you fucking ruin everything. Just ruin the whole fucking thing. The five seconds of attention you get will be worth destroying it. Because you're a woman.
You're bored, as usual, tweeting about your fucking hair and not even feeling any kind of happiness from it, just soothing your constant need to be bitter and cunty and petty toward other women. Every single thing you've done in the past year was mundane, shallow, and boring. You spent the last six hours reading kinda-interesting stories about people who made fun interesting Halloween hats for their kids or some stupid bullshit that you think is interesting and you may say is interesting but you're not really sure if it's really interesting. You're just fucking sitting there, gestating, fermenting, with a moist hole between your legs that guarantees you'll at least never have to get up and move around and work to support yourself.
And then you see men, over in some corner, having fun. You've never seen this before. What are they even doing? Instead of their consciousnesses merely sitting in their thick skull and revolving around itself, they are imbuing their conscious energy and intentionality into external objects, crafts, goals, projects. All the bitterness and cuntiness you feel nonstop seems to be absent, as they congratulate each other for being victorious, and happily learn from someone who defeated them. These creatures are truly content to be alive. They have found purpose in a purposeless universe.
And your gaze turns back on itself, on yourself, and you realize you've never had that. You can never have it. You're just a stupid cunt.
So you get up, you walk over there, and you fucking ruin everything. Just ruin the whole fucking thing. The five seconds of attention you get will be worth destroying it. Because you're a woman.
