/lit/ - Literature

>>21802775
I hate the smallness of life, or at least my own. I wish I could escape into a world of delusion or pure symbolism--a world where I don't have to think about my vehicle's fluid levels or how I'm going to make a living.
The attraction of the apocalypse has always been the promise of total emancipation from all the petty, banal realities of life. A sudden climax leading to total cessation. And in that cessation there will never be lacking, never be the wanting for something which evades me. The height of egoism to be found in its own complete dissolution.
The wishful fantasy that if I like a child say no loudly enough, nothing will ever again have to be refilled or replenished.
The same desire which motivates the excesses of religious ecstasy also motivates the most moving political rhetoric--the promise of a freedom we know cannot exist, but wish to make ourselves believe. We only believe in it because we know it can't be. If it could be, it would no longer be an object of interest.
That through the fixation on a symbol, we might abolish, or at least for a time ignore reality altogether.
I still wish it could be something more than mere escapism. There is always that yearning within for something more, which never finds release.
I desire something, anything more than myself to die for, to madly devote myself to with complete irrational self-abandon. I envy the jihadist, the culture warrior, even the feminist. No matter how absurd or irrational such people can be, they let themselves be absurd, they ignore that which contradicts and exist solely for their ideas. I desire a ruling idea above my self to give myself over to, but I am too basically skeptical and uncertain. I can't commit myself to something I don't genuinely completely believe in.