Wednesday 2/26/25
This world is an ugly, awful place. It is a torturous place in which to be if one is intelligent and decent. The more intelligent and decent one is, the more torturous this world is. There is nothing and no one in it for that person. Evil and stupidity rule and are inescapable.
Anything worthwhile in this life now is to be found in the margins of the margins of the margins. In these remote tiny caves in the deepest jungles where there is an intelligent person like some hermit lost to the rest of the world, existing in this spot because there is nowhere else for them, nowhere else for them to be. Everything out in front, everything seen, anything one might encounter just by being alive, is idiotic, evil. That's all there is unless you happen upon one of those caves or went off looking for them, which people don't do. They don't look for anything. They only see what is placed in front of them.
I myself am in the most remote of caves it feels like. That here is the person who knows, here is the person unlike all others, and so in this world he exists in the cave at the furthest remove. I said to someone the other day that in a way it makes perfect sense that the greatest artist there has ever been would die completely unknown in this world, and it would be as if they--and more importantly, their work--never existed. With no one ever knowing. I said that little, if anything, is more logical to me. It's also my biggest fear.
Some thoughts on getting up today.
Still, I must keep trying.
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