Recently, I caught myself thinking about who I am as a person, what I want, and where I’m heading. The uncertainty of life lingers, and I immerse myself in these fictitious alternate realities, only to have them shatter when confronted by present-day events.
I’ve met people whom I believe share some unity with my soul, but revealing my inner thoughts has rarely helped me forge or maintain friendships. Now I wander through life alone: family and personal issues compel me toward self-reliance, and although I often seek comfort in others, I’m invariably disappointed.
Days feel repetitive, leading to the gradual decay of my spirit, the light that once ignited my very being. The truth is inescapable: I’m unhappy with where I am, terrified of what the future may hold, and feel woefully unprepared for life’s challenges.
I have always been a man who understood exactly what he wanted, yet now I wonder if those ambitions are even attainable.
The compounding rate of change accelerates exponentially. What will the world look like twenty or thirty years from now? What will become of the very essence of the soul?
Late at night, my mind wanders to the unknown: love, loneliness, death. I haven’t slept through an entire night in years, plagued by the relentless proliferation of my thoughts.
I turned 21 the other day, and it felt strange not to celebrate with some of those I hold dearest. A year closer to death, yet none of my actions has yielded any meaningful result, an opaque representation of Mehmed & Alexander.
My ambition elevates me above the crowd, but my desire to be loved drags me back down. I’m driven by a radical, almost delusional self-belief—and even now I wonder what iterations I must undergo to reach my goals. I’ve always set attainable objectives, but every achievement is followed by a creeping sense of failure.
I am never satisfied: does this restlessness elevate me, or plunge me into depression? This melancholy often outweighs my ambition.
The delta of this past year has been the greatest of my life, so has the instability I feel as I continue to grow older. Only time will tell whether meaning and self-belief will anchor me to my existence, or whether they will slip from my grasp, abandoning this delusion that acts as the nootropic keeping me here.
Superintelligence is near, we are at the cusp of being ordained second-class citizens to machines which do not feel, do not love, and do not care. A numerically-functioning space holds the encryption key to tetration, of which we may be excluded.
“Always alone among men, I come home to dream by myself and to give myself over to all the forces of my melancholy.” – On Suicide.
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