/bs/ - backstory

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 uselessness is proven useful by my charity. The I that has been is no more I, it is We because now that you took my limbs it has become your bread, we are now in union together. You as an agent in need of energy and me as an efficient resource, our economical relations transcend them, and we become something more, something meaningful, and even my existence proves itself to be useful, to be of convenience

I think of the future and I cannot find it in my thoughts. Not that it cannot be constructed or that everything is so out of hand that thinking about future is just a form of desperation. No. Im afraid of having any future because if I will, then my body will have usefulness by own right and that is terrifying thought. It is a condition that I must have no future because this way I can be assumed to be utterly useless. And so, by my own choice, by my own charity I can be the useful itself, to be matter that is donated and when received increases economic productivity. I want to be a material, because I am a material

I think all that and wonder, does my thinking itself increases economic output? Maybe Im the economy, maybe my body is both the machine producer amd machine consumer and I alone exist in the perfect equilibrium of the market and the supply and demand. Or if I think about devastation and decay, a bomber spraying the city with all kind of explosives, do I actually decrease the economic productivity? Maybe I am really just wishing to be useful but then, even with the most cruel thought, the most brutal ways of how I can benefit the economy in ways of my own body, it is all impossible. Nothing but fantasy, a megalomaniac fantasy of being the economy itself, being the law of the market and being the market itself. Amusing myself with fantasies of unquestionable power to structure reality and yet structure it all the same only that my body is the structure itself, my skin and my bones are elemental parts and aspects of the economic system and everything in existence lives either on my body or in it

Then Im a God of efficiency, I make everyone satisfied instantly for that they feed from my body's fruits. Then no one is unsatisfied because thats impossible, because Im bread and there is nothing else that you need. It is not in the economic structure for you to desire anything more than that, you have the pinnacle of existence, me as the bread and the structure. Me as the economy and the law. I have negated the scarcity, and everyone is sated in this perpetual crossfeeding

Then I have to sleep but I can't stop thinking. My brain is working too hard for some reason. And I continue, how good would it be if I were to be a plant? Then I realize that there is no difference. It is not about my quality but the way Im used. Nothing but sadness is felt by me today, during this night, as I realize that Im afforded humanity simply because I am. Desperation creeps on me as I realize that I never could be useless. Then all the fantasies, they are all misguided, I must seek to be uneconomical as possible to be free. I must be the opposite of the corpse, I must be eternally living tissue forever draining sustenance from everything around me. I must be life instead to be free, I must be devoid from any structure, I must break every part in my body and every bone and remain as nothing more but a testament to life. Because brutality is the only language I can think about these days