/lit/ - Literature

Anyways.
There are times when I am up late when I’m disconnected from all time and space. What am I doing? Why is time? Why this? Why here? Why am I? Aided and abetted by my miserable isolation so that nothing cancels them out, these questions ricochet across my mind. I hate my surroundings. I am unknown to the world and the world unknown to me. An undefinable inanity radiates from everything. Somehow in every atom. There is enlightenment in my ignorance, in my distance from God perhaps. I do not turn from it, but see it. Sex looms like an ugly monster, making violence out of love, brutal in its futile frustrations, simultaneously beneath me yet my master. There is nothing to distract me from my own vanishing reality, here now and then gone, then nothing but nothing but nothing

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wT7eDa1oEA8