This is not ideal and I'm dumping a lot on you at once. For that you have my apologies but it is fitting because I never identified with the writing community so a fellow outsider seems rather apropos.
For what was intended to be the book that would begin my ascent is now my conclusion. There's layers of irony there. As you know, I originally wrote The Sacrifices as my suicide note. The suicide failed. Then I decided to take the note and expand on it. Later, I recognized how powerful the text is and wanted to release it properly. I would say that I "finished" it by 6/30 2024. it was around then that I finished The Madness chapter. Aside from that, I made some minor edits but it has largely been the same book.
I almost feel like that dude from Troma's War that survived the plane crash only later to get bit by a snake and die.
Life took a shit on me and nearly everyone I was close with or felt close with ran away from me. Some of it was my fault and some of it was not. There's not much else to ruminate upon there. In my defense I am only human.
My one request to you, if I may impose in this post-mortem state of being where my only threat would be a haunting, is that you please spread this book like AIDS. Spam it everywhere. Use it in manifestos. Leave it in the book donation boxes. Send a copy to Sam Hyde. Etcetera etcetera que sera sera.
I look at everything I wanted to do and could not and have come to the conclusion that dreams/aspirations and all that are a biological trick your mind plays in order to keep you around and feed into the rest of society and the chain of life and all that. I wrote this before but I think I was engineered to only spread pain. The people out there who get to create things and exist in their own niche I regard as very fortunate survivors of an absolutely brutal, corrupt and stupid world or they're simply the products of nepotism.
I can only imagine that my consciousness will keep going. Emerging out at the other side of the universe. And if you want to apply a horror philosophy then you can speculate that the consciousness keeps expanding and devours others in this sort of galactic afterlife. But that might be too optimistic, as though my death is me simply hiding somewhere and building something to come back. I'm not that naive and who would want to come back to this? Realistically speaking, I think you don't retain consciousness in the afterlife. My hypothesis is that it all goes blank but you hold on to one feeling for all eternity until all reality atomizes into the great abyss from which it returns to being. After writing that out I am affected by this sort of equality in death and non-existence and it's getting easier to write this note and look it over.
My theory is that when you die your consciousness escapes but remains intact in some sort of way, and maybe you have total consciousness for a time but the problem with that theory is that you will eventually get bored. Time takes its toll on your mind. So I believe that you may retain your consciousness but it wears down over time until there's just one moment or feeling repeated for all eternity until the world finally ends. So maybe not an eternity but a trillion or so years until the universe dies will feel like it. Otherwise... Maybe you come back as something else? If so, I would like to come back as a comet that collides with a planet. I reject joining a collective consciousness as it's too fanciful and Communist.
You may republish this as you see fit. It doesn't bother me to steal a page from Diogene of Sinope.
