/lit/ - Literature

>>3131722

The Tibetian Book of the Dead.

>>1983005

my lonely condition

it's as if we're all a pack of wild animals, almost, still human but naked, every one of us, and sprinting in one direction in close proximity to one another. every person is running, and all people form a shifting amoeba crossing the desert of our world. You run until you die, and thus the last thing a person sees is his kinfolk humans racing towards the distance.

a human life is but a cell providing newtons for the whole. The whole thing races interminably.

There's also the notion of giant boulders which we push as we run. The funny part is these forms are not necessarily reliant on the effort on our part; they merely exist because we do. They are things we can bring along, and do. Essentially, then, they become us, or rather we begin to be characterized as an entity in possession of such things. It is an evolution. A eukaryote that spontaneously grows cilia is not continually referred to by its original name: it has changed. Therefore we express ourselves through these massive rolling concepts, adopting them as fundamental characteristics of our being.

And yet the core principle is the same: that we are running, constantly, in no discernible directions (or dimention, really) for no discernible purpose other than to propogate our own inertia. the landscape which we cross is of soft hills and sparse vegetation, like the serengeti. There is no ocean for us to meet, however, as our collective experience is not finite.

We just keep running, and running, sweaty naked people racing amongst one-another, tripping over eachother to contribute to whichever causes we find worthy in our own little ways.

victory in human terms cannot be attained in absolute terms. You simply fall over, unable to continue, and your brethren mourn your passing with an increase in foot speed.

There are only distractions and comfort.

>>1005224
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