Wheres the naivety I was promised.
I just feel this listlessness.
Its akin to the sickness felt from laying in bed too long.
I love laying in bed… it takes me a really long time to feel like that.
Is this a lucid dream?
I crave. I crave so much. For something.
If that something is a perfect world,
Then as a creature of craving I do not belong.
Heres a lovely story written by several of the motivating aspects of my rationality, they are personified as characters for your amusement.
Meaninglessness how is the soup? It doesn’t matter? Really? I think it’s too hot. Time could you give us a hand with that. No rush, Desire depends on anticipation. Pride mentions that perhaps there is something else we could be accomplishing while waiting, but Fear doesn’t want us to go too far, or the soup may be cold when we return, Desire thinks of the taste of cold soup and agrees.
Fuck the soup. Abandon smiles at me. Perhaps I should eat it now and burn myself, Fear reminds me of the potential of permanent damage to my taste buds and Desire turns his head and gives me a cold stair. Time whispers to Desire the impossible to imagine length of tasteless living that would ensue, and Desire looks resolute.
Fuck the soup. Abandon grins. I’ll starve, I want to get the fuck out of here and accomplish something. Pride reminds me of Jesus and we smile at each other. Meaninglessness reminds me that anything I do won’t actually matter, Time mentions that in the grand scheme of things he agrees.
Fuck all of you. Abandon giggles. I sit down at the table and Time cools the soup, Pride rearranges the floating noodle letters into a incomprehensible word it made from the amalgamation of six other words, “Tidessireab” and thinks he’s amazing. Desire admires the temperature and texture of the first bite, but then begins to rant on the improvements that could be made. Fear wonders if the sodium content, and nutritional value of canned soups could be potentially unhealthy. Meaninglessness just stairs out the window searching. Abandon seems satisfied with the non-committal nature of the soup.
The letters around prides word are slowly consumed until only the word remains. Pride can’t bring himself to eat it, and goes to look for a pencil so he won’t forget the spelling. Desire goes to sleep on the couch seemingly satisfied, but dreams of better soups.
Pride is frustrated with Abandon and decides to write this story. Fear wonders if others will interpret hidden meaning. Pride is sure everyone will love his story. His ego and knowledge of his own genius motivates him to go out into the snow and make a new friend, Denial.
Love wanders around in the snow, so white and beautiful it blends perfectly disappearing in the reflection of the sun. It’s not alone, or lonely, it’s content knowing it has nothing to do with any of them. Nothing.
Abandon laughs and clicks “Publish Post.”