the d word

It’s all bullshit. I have no idea if I am allowed to swear. I mean of course I am allowed to. But not sure how and if and whatever it impacts this site’s reputation. Like what Google thinks. But who cares. That’s not the point. Or is it.

Is the point perhaps that this is all bullshit anyways. That’s what I’ve been thinking about lately. My posts have been dry. Cynical. Not depressed, though. I know that. I was depressed. I didn’t know that. But I know that.

Last night I thought about death. Not because I’m suicidal or anything of the sorts. I am not. At all. I thought about the opposite. Man, I want to live. I want life. And then I thought about it all going away. And I was sad. Really sad.

The d word is death.

How often do you think about death? Like I read Ivan Ilyitch. The death of him. His whole life he did not think about death. And then he did. And went mad. And the end.

I am also reading Will Durant’s last book. It’s about his last years. He seems content. It’s a reflection on life. Will I feel that way? Because I don’t know how I’ll get there.

To that peaceful state. Of saying goodbye? Oh my god I cannot believe I have to say goodbye. That is how I feel. How do we all accept that? As like an unknown dimension. Like what happens to us? We stop being? I cannot process that. As. write this, I get scared.

But weirdly…weirdly I feel better. Thinking about this. It’s almost like not allowed to be talked about. It’s foreign. Yet I am an adult. How often have I talked and thought about death? Even writing it is scary. Like it’s not an allowed topic. Forget talking about, to even think about.

My mind has built a wall around the topic. Again I’m not going there because I want to die. I want the opposite. I want life. So much of it. Forever. Greedily. Perhaps.

And that’s my curiosity. But it’s a fuel.

It’s a fuel that’s telling me so loudly: FUCK THE BULLSHIT.

Fuck the getting caught up in bullshit.

One day we literally die. like go away. Forever. And ever.

Forget being whatever. Be everything. Forget identity. You literally die. You literally go away.

It’s all bullshit. The corporate ladder. It’s made up. Celebrities. Made up. It’s games we play for who? For what thing are we serving?

This isn’t a hot take. It’s not hot but it’s like look around. Wake up. All of tech is bullshit. All of corporate america literally playing bullshit games. I mean half pregnant costa rica is also bullshit.

You hear the strain. I am not talking. But I am writing. And hopefully you can hear it. The echoes. The fear. The tension. The aliveness.

Like I am calling bullshit. Academia. Companies. Everyone. Everywhere.

Go look in the mirror. Seriously. Wake up and look in the mirror.

Bullshit is everywhere. Every meeting. Every interaction. It’s a game. Truly a game.

We isolate the madness. We tell them to go away. Like foucault describes. But why? Why are we afraid of the people who call our bluffs?

Perhaps we just accept it and that’s what getting older is about. About living confined. And realizing that ignorance is bliss.

But there are those…those who dig under. Who don’t stop. Who ask questions in class. Who really want to know the answers.

Who can’t live with BS. I can’t. It eats at me. And yet I am part of the problem. I don’t see a way out.

But thinking about death helps. Not in a jumping in way, though. The opposite. A reminder like that — that thing does happen. That thing we’re not allowed to talk about. That thing that impacts us all. HOLY that happens.






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