/lit/ - Literature

Every day I lose. With every step towards an action I lose the drive to commit to any path, as all of it leads down to nothing. And that's what I am, nothing. I don't exist as an active participant, I'm just an idiotic and passive observer of the absurdity of what we call "progress". Progress towards what any of us will ask at some point, and the answer is inevitably and undoubtedly a nihilistic and pessimistic triage. And I haven't said a damn thing. Empty words flow from this keyboard, empty words that are limitless in quantity, the rate at which they flow no one can surpass, my only talent. I can flow strings of nothingness together as any professional writer outputs meaningful prose. I'm the master of my empty domain. Come with me, I'll give you nothing.