Antithesis is bull

When I proclaim my daily revolutions, it shall be my greatest orgy of my humanity and idiocracy. A subterfuge of existentialism which only can depict a greater concept of my homage to delirium. This is my immolation to my alternate reality; a generous intrinsic movement from the collaboration of sickness and poison. I hate to admit to you that certainty does not exist, nor does truth, nor do numbers, nor does value.

To me, the things we make subjective have only placed us in an imprisonment of fear and morality.

Through morality, we have feared to venture and explore, so the proclamation of my daily revolutions (‘whining about my life’ for those of you who need to understand things according to Layman), I have failed to experience and expect a greater understanding of the cynic randomness of the tiny segments in life. This menagerie we are put through, is a delirious episode. A concierge, an usher, a slave rather, to immaculate conformist, corporate, perfectionist desires; that’s what we really are.

But fuck all that already, fuck reality.

Why can’t I create my own reality and my own world and my own things with my own endings. Like Neil Gaiman’s Sandman?

Why? Because we’ve defined reality. It’s blasphemy. 

And if I think of making my own worlds and doing my own things, it will be selfish, and I’ll be called crazy and bullshit like that.

But really, who gives a damn.

Someone told me I’m the minority of the minority, I hate to agree, but I do; I’m the chandelier of shit in a room full of shit; the spotlight; the main event; the super-shit.

I’m a big piece of shit on a big piece of shit, and I’m proud of it!

I hate your morality, I hate your reality, I hate your sanity, I hate everything you say about living ‘happy’ and in ‘harmony’! I hate it, because it’s imprisonment, it’s captivity.

I have to be enslaved to serve your pathetic emotional outbursts, and I am sick of it.

Call it blaspheme, or sedition, or defamation, I don’t give a fuck. Life is meaningless. What pursuits are there left to fulfill when we set the standard of perfection so high and complicated?

This thing we’ve got going on in life is ludicrous. A ridicule of our stupidity.