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6/25/2025, 1:17:24 AM
>>81603196
Did you think life would just be handed to you? That you could wake up one day, decide "I'm going to be great!" and the world would open up to you?
You have to work for what you want. Hard. What most people don't seem to write or make art about is how exhausting it is to have a relatively shitty life by American standards. You really have to kill yourself to even have a townhouse, let alone actual property.
You have to be willing to fuck up. Fuck up constantly. You have to get to the positions you want to be in and be consumed with that all too familiar feeling of actual sickness, of despair, the clawing, screaming desire to be anywhere else, to do anything else, to escape and forfeit all you worked for. Not only do you have to suffer to grow as a human being, you have to kill the former version of yourself, strangle his habits, clear out his closet, and bury him. You have to do this ritual every single time you move on to a new phase in life if you wish to have any depth or character worth having.
Robots reject this notion. They hiss, scream, bitch, and bemoan that "life's not fair".
"OH MY LIFE WOULD HAVE BEEN SO GOOD IF..."
Do you recognize how retarded that is? That history is filled with endless great works by endless people of similar circumstance that the average robot has to wholesale reject because it doesn't fit his cope?
The fact of the matter is robots by and large tend to be cowardly, shitty men who come from cowardly, shitty fathers. They do not take risks, they do not take responsibility, they will blame the sun for rising if it meant they didn't have to meet their gaze in the mirror and acknowledge that they are the author of their demise.
I take satisfaction in your cries. Yes, yes. Plead. Beg. Moan. Gasp at a world that is passing you by. Claw at the cage. Let me suck upon your cheek and taste the tears. Your voice growing quieter and quieter with each passing year. So faint it will disappear.
Only I will remain.
Did you think life would just be handed to you? That you could wake up one day, decide "I'm going to be great!" and the world would open up to you?
You have to work for what you want. Hard. What most people don't seem to write or make art about is how exhausting it is to have a relatively shitty life by American standards. You really have to kill yourself to even have a townhouse, let alone actual property.
You have to be willing to fuck up. Fuck up constantly. You have to get to the positions you want to be in and be consumed with that all too familiar feeling of actual sickness, of despair, the clawing, screaming desire to be anywhere else, to do anything else, to escape and forfeit all you worked for. Not only do you have to suffer to grow as a human being, you have to kill the former version of yourself, strangle his habits, clear out his closet, and bury him. You have to do this ritual every single time you move on to a new phase in life if you wish to have any depth or character worth having.
Robots reject this notion. They hiss, scream, bitch, and bemoan that "life's not fair".
"OH MY LIFE WOULD HAVE BEEN SO GOOD IF..."
Do you recognize how retarded that is? That history is filled with endless great works by endless people of similar circumstance that the average robot has to wholesale reject because it doesn't fit his cope?
The fact of the matter is robots by and large tend to be cowardly, shitty men who come from cowardly, shitty fathers. They do not take risks, they do not take responsibility, they will blame the sun for rising if it meant they didn't have to meet their gaze in the mirror and acknowledge that they are the author of their demise.
I take satisfaction in your cries. Yes, yes. Plead. Beg. Moan. Gasp at a world that is passing you by. Claw at the cage. Let me suck upon your cheek and taste the tears. Your voice growing quieter and quieter with each passing year. So faint it will disappear.
Only I will remain.
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