I get ready for sleep and tomorrow I wake up and everything is the same. There is no progression. and all this time we've had we've wasted. Thousands of years and no effect. Tonight is a waste. Tomorrow will achieve nothing. And I remain surrounded by the rats and the mold and the bugs and this is all fine, everything is ok, and nothing seems disturbing. But then I look around and all that is nice disgusts me and all that is beautiful is repugnant, and I see that we are the one true monster. And are we to blame? Are we evil? And I say yes and yes. Because we've done nothing about it. And I sleep and I wake up and everything is the same. I sleep the easy sleep of one who is content, no complaints. I live my waking days with little pain, and no true suffering. I'd be an asshole to complain. It would be like spitting in the faces of those who are less fortunate than me. And yet the horror slowly seeps in. The better off the worse it really is, because I'm better and more empty and void of meaning. I'm entertained and kept busy and distracted and smothered. And I sleep and I wake up and everything is the same.
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