How it all began

How did I start writing these strange and disturbing things? I'm not shure. I guess I was bored out of my mind and had no choice but to start thinking. At first, the things that would come to mind were nice, kind of comforting. I figured out that this world is big enough for me to enjoy living in it, and that I am the sole creator of my destiny, and that misery isn't necessary. That was great. I was happy.
But instead of just stopping there I went on. After a while, I figured that misery isn't so bad. And hunger isn't so bad. Nor pain, or hate, or lust, or poverty, or well... anything. It's all just life. It's not bad. There is no bad. Or good. Just choices. That kind of an idea takes a bit of time to sink in, but when it finally hits you in the head you find yourself sort of stranded. Sitting on the edge of reality, looking inside and thinking: "This can not be real."
The world you see once you really open your eyes and start thinking, makes absolutely no sense. What we do to ourselves makes absolutely no sense. All the misery. All the pain. Boredom. Do we ever ask: "Why?"
I did. And I found some really, really strange answers.
And why do I feel the need to share them with the world? I don't. I don't feel the need to save anyone. But it's nice to write.









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