Yeah, Ive been lying the other day on the bed, dead in the night and thinking about death. Not dying but death, for that dying is an act of cowardice but death itself?
How many people have had to be made into fertilizer, newly made compost? And how many people feel intense distress about it, imagine family. Imagine anyone in the world who is ready to see and feel it, and yet, the number of those is dwindling. Imagine the expression on widow's eyes when she looks down on the casket and sees someone who is now in a better place, in somewhere infinitely more pleasant than she is. In the earth, eternal rest below the humanity, with the head turned to the side so not to see them more, not to notice the pain of living that now is no more. Liberated from the only thing truly keeps you unfree, yourself, the corpse now laughs in scarlet tones at the living
And I, look into the dark and Im nothing. Pour dirt on me and Im nothing, only in the time of the suffocating death that I will be more than am I, I will become compost and fertilizer that fulfills higher economic needs, I will become energy and bread and my life will then be redeemed and useful forever in this eternal chain of consumption, of flows of life
In this genocide of all, drop the bombs from all sides, on every city and every village. For that we are guilty and we require redeeming, litter the earth with every kind of gore. There is no logic in this, but economy. If all of us to be turned to the compost, a resource of energy, then it will be only economical and we will be benefiting higher needs of the production of whatever, missiles to kill us, torture devices, tanks and guns
Because the life is useless. That is what Im thinking, while looking up into the celling. And Im afraid of something that I cannot understand, Im afraid of being because being is death delayed. And nothing matters more than death, because in death there is life that wants to be, just like a seed from which a flower wants to bloom into. And I, if there is such thing as I, a machine. Mechanistic being built from parts
And in being a machine I have a huge issue. I dont need my parts. It is not economical to keep them, I must sell them and increase efficiency. I must disembody myself limb by limb and offer my own limbs as a gift for the humanity, as the most optimal solution, in a great humanitarian impulse, and benefit all
Then in my dismembered state Im truly optimized, my usele
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