There is a great urge within me to lie down and let my body assimilate with the bones and detritus of all that have walked this Earth before me, to curl up beneath a blanket of moss and loam and return my body to the ground and let my spirit soar ever onward. At times, it is as if a great arm is reaching out to grab me and pull me down into the morass with the rest of our forgotten dead.
I’m terrified and miserable tonight. I feel uneasy and my eyes are burning, straining against the unnatural LED ceiling fan light hanging above me in my home office. My belongings are packed away in containers apart from a few select books I’ve set aside to mull over in my spare time. Good things have happened, but my outlook generally remains bleak. I have less and less to say. Nothing seems of any use. The world is fallen and we’ve nowhere left to hide from society. All that’s left is borrowed hope for a quick and painless death. I feel a strong urge to delve a vast network of secret tunnels and live underground with all of my weird friends. This is simply how I feel, here, in this particular moment. My despair is recurrent. I’m beating it back as often as I can. I’m exhausted.
It has begun to rain outside, the patter of raindrops across my roof still makes me nervous, though our roof was repaired early this year. I keep telling myself that at least I’m not smoking meth or crack anymore. I hope this storm will pass and take my present anxiety with it. I haven’t written anything in quite a long time apart from journal entries. I haven’t kept up with this site. I feel cold and gray inside. My mind has turned to lukewarm gruel encased in a prison of bone. Nothing much matters anymore.
Something horrible occurred to me I’m not sure when but recently, that like so many others, I’ve been duped into fulfilling the dreams of another entity and sacrificing my own to do so, and that the ultimate dream of this entity or entities is neither benevolent nor humane, but one that feeds endlessly on suffering, drinks deep of it as it propagates false hope among doomed men. The shit keeps piling up and we just can’t shovel fast enough to get out of the cesspit, and the more we dig, the deeper it gets. Violence is coming. Ours is the end of an age.
God help us.
Towers of Rust 