There is no task more demanding, more insufferable, and altogether more burdensome than that of being forced to live in a world with the “Other.”
A great philosopher once said that 5/6 of the population deserves nothing but contempt. Yet some days it feels even this figure is a bit too optimistic.
How wonderful it would be if this were all an illusion…one that could be changed with a sufficient expression of will in which one could destroy all that is in order to create anew.
This burden is so exhausting that it drains whatever life I have left right out of me. Everyday I wake up with the novel hope of wishing for nothing more than not being bothered by others.
This is why all true individuals of higher intellect or authentic creative tendency have resigned themselves to deep and contemplative solitude. How rapturous it would be to renounce this life and retreat into barren existential solipsism — to reflect upon myself and the nothingness that awaits me.
How dreadful it must be that one would rather face the angst-inducing nothingess of his own existence rather than partake in small talk with a passerby?