Not That Everything You Read Is Really Worth A Shit

My favorite writers understood how worthless they are. Pound, Vonnegut, and Bukowski are the same soul sighing in disgust. Dostoevski, Camus, Garcia Marquez, all of them wrote as if their lives did not depend upon it because their lives didn’t matter. 

My life doesn’t, didn’t, will never matter.

Nothing matters.

Matter is simply the least interesting form of energy.

Even Einstein recognized that, and he helped this god forsaken world to amass heaps of nuclear weapons capable of converting most of the meaningless matter on this meaningless planet into meaningless energy.

Glory be!

To whatever!

I can no longer talk to stupid people about meaningless things.

Cave painting is all I have left.

It’s all marginally intelligent people ever have left, deep in the dank dark, without a tiki torch or a flip phone.

#TheTerribleSwiftianSword