The Brownian Effect

Today, 10/10, I was thirty-three years old, the age of the Redemptioner. I lived in an era of Old Testamentary disasters, media-genic catastrophes of which depictions swarmed around Internet pages, television and newspapers. A Tsunami off the coast of Sumatra had killed 120,000 people, an earthquake in Bam, Iran had killed 25,000, an earthquake in Kashmir had killed 30,000, pushing from the frontpages the 1,500 dead from the landslide in Guatemala and the old news from the hurricane Katrina in New Orleans that had shocked America.

I lived under a constant threat of a terrorist attack like the double quadruple London attacks of 7/7 or the train blasts of 3/11 in Madrid, Spain, or at least this I was told by my government that was fighting a War Against Terrorism. They were hunting the perpetrators of the 9/11 attacks that had destroyed the Twin Towers and the Pentagon, killing more than 2,700 people. American troops had since invaded Afghanistan and Iraq, wars that had killed more than 100,000 Iraqi civilians and more than 2,000 American troops. America was fighting terrorists of Al-Qaeda – the Base – and supporters of former Ba’athist dictator Saddam Hussein, who was now facing trial by his people for murdering 200,000 of his people.

It was an early Monday morning, I had awoken at five in order to write as I used to do. I tried to assess my emotion. I felt like masturbating. I tried to think of an arousing fantasy to stimulate my awakening senses and awake, but I wasn’t susceptible for any images. I was plagued by a common sense of lost meaning. To live, this mattered, but nothing in life exceeded in importance beyond this simple statement. In life, man is responsible for creating his own meaning. We all create a delusion and attempt to firmly believe in it. But my mind was weak, I quickly hesitated, doubted and concluded to disbelief.

Many thoughts made me sick. Although I was thrilled by many, most experiences to be honest, but the existential nucleus of my perception was boredom, bored, boring. I could get easiest aroused sexually. This was the most obstinate instinct I possessed, the lightest, and therefore the greatest delusion. It was the only emotion or experience that I could briefly be convinced by and believe in for the full moment that it lasted. But this submission was only a short lasting forgetfulness, yet complete. It was the only submission that I was able to undergo that was heartfelt. Most enjoyments I was able to generate, were delusions of consciousness, calculated mechanisms that were executed by a halfhearted conviction. I knew life’s meaning was true, but false to the mind if I was able to create it by heart.

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