Alone. There's no point. You punch keys and send out thoughts to an uncaring nothing. All your best outlets are places where thoughts go to die. You could have instilled them into a child, into a friend, into an art piece to share with the community. But instead, it's just rambling to yourself, day in, day out. I have watched people come into this life, and fade away. I have watched souls die. I have been haunted by the ghosts of dead men, writers, for 40 days and 40 nights. I see the same sun come up each day. I hear the same voices of people I don't know, out the window, day after day. I kill time, waiting to die. And nobody showeth me anything new. We discovered every novelty we could find on this barren rock, this fruitful, abundant, barren rock. And now it is novel no longer. It didn't take 70 years to see that there's nothing worthwhile here. You don't need 70 years to figure out that we are just the insanity of animals, trapped in a cage. I don't long for friends, they would bring me nothing new. I don't long for a girl, she would bring me nothing new. I want to create a new race of beings. I won't write a book, or some fantasy escapade. I want to do it for real. Only that could cure my despondency. To be a god, and create my own worlds, for real. I open a blank page, and I lose all hope. The computer screen is too bright to write. I could turn to a piece of paper, but knowing that anything I wrote would be just my own masturbatory diaries fills me with despair. I want to create a race of beings whom I could love, and who would show me new marvels from their own fonts of ingenuity. And I would want to do that over and over for awhile. I am unsatisfiable. I am sure I would grow tired of even that. Boredom is our god. Boredom consumes every thing that is, and every thing that is not. Boredom, is the foundational coding of matter. Maybe women don't get bored.