A worth in existence
Of all the questions I could ask myself... the one that that haunt's me most is that of worth and what it means to attain one's worth.
Do i make worth in something? Do I create worth from something whilst I can't even find worth from my worthless existence... my existence, that's confounded in the fact of its lack of worth... so worthless is this existence of mine, that I am more surprised by the lack of feeling I have for the world, than that of actually making that feeling real.
It's like calling something "real," when the realism is in its whimsy; its lack of understanding; and its lack of realism.
I hate whimsy and all emotions associated with it - I hate the fun and the joy associated in the lack of realism of something that has been posited as being real. I hate the joy gotten from unhappiness and the gaining of happiness from unhappiness, for its lack of continuity and realism.
In all my hate for the world around me, I let go of the fact of attaining worth... of reaching what makes you feel real or what gives existence to a non-existent entity or what gives civilization to toothless barbarians.
I let go of the fact that realism is attained in the lack of reality, the lack of humanity, realism is worth and worth is in human indulgence, the glee on our faces after a grand war of subjugation, the glee on our faces after massacring a people, the enjoyment we gain from the lack of freedom in others, and our freedom to dominate like the savages we are.
O, a foul savage is human nature! the nature born in the death of nature and in the bureaucratic savagery that runs through our veins.
From this monologue I have been enlightened on worth and what it means to neither create nor attain, for worth is mine falsity and thine savagery and to that end I shall neither create nor attain worth.
I shall invent mine own worth, with mine own blood, sweat, toil, and tears for that's where I shall become civilized.