It seems like everything is death themed. It makes me feel sick in a deep place.
I don’t know why I feel like this and it seems like other people don’t. Maybe we’re all brilliant at hiding it. It seems like other people have a trust in the physical world and don’t even think about slipping by accident into nonexistence.
It’s like when one foot is sinking into the mud and you’re trying to lift it out but it just sucks you in further.
At night, I’ve been looking up at the moon and covering it with my thumb. I imagine I’m an astronaut and I’m covering the Earth with my thumb. Think of that. Blocking from your vision everything you’ve ever known, the beginning and end of your life.
Outer space can’t be real. Hell can’t be real. The only reality exists in the human mind. That’s the only place reality is questioned, and therefore the only place it exists. The universe does what it does without thought. I shouldn’t be so concerned with things I can’t control. But I am. Because in light of these things, my entire existence is rendered meaningless to anything but me.
I want people to stop sitting in silence because they don’t understand what I’m saying.