Afracious

“No veils, no aliases. No duty, no blame. These green woods are without thought, nameless are its denizens. They lead into a waking dream. A dream with nothing to dream. Nothing to conjure nor relate. No effort to pursue nor resist. To sleep among root and rock… Why harbour identity where there is none? What good governs here where you are nothing? Your recitals without audience, your words without paper. The clanless hermit conceives of his own visage twisted in the shady stream. He carves not hideous figures and faces from the kindling but burns it. He dances not with a head of sprig to impress the elves. A sage must emulate nature from which morality is neutered. Ethics are chaste fodder for undying pyres. That ongoing tumult beyond the forest’s edge shall be yours to lick up and knock over again and again if you so choose… Mankind invents and implies. The crowd accepts or denies. People are always begging pity or scorn from your kind.”
― Jacob H. Kyle, The Tedium Lies

“The unfortunate truth, suggested by science and vehemently denied by religion, is that there is no greater story. We may make up stories and allow them to shape our perceptions, but ultimately there is no story. We are all living in the epilogue of reality, or rather worse, because there never was a story. For many of us, our personal stories have run out - and it's extremely difficult to push oneself into a new story once you see that all stories are vanity. It is like the difficulty of staying in a dream once one realizes one is dreaming.”
― Sarah Perry, Every Cradle is a Grave: Rethinking the Ethics of Birth and Suicide

“Here is the confession
once made by a patient to Brierre de Boismont, which perfectly
describes the condition: 'I am employed in a business house. I perform
my regular duties satisfactorily but like an automaton, and when
spoken to, the words sound to me as though echoing in a void. My
greatest torment is the thought of suicide, from which I am never free.
I have been the victim of this impulse for a year; at first it was insignificant; then for about the last two months it has pursued me everywhere,
yet I have no reason to kill myself. . . . My health is good; no one in my family
has been similarly afflicted; I have had no financial losses, my income is
adequate and permits me the pleasures of people of my age.”
― Durkheim Emile, Suicide: A Study in Sociology

“Existential dread to philosophy’s end in an objectively indignant and unknowable universe is principally all we shall ever expect to bear and intuit but more importantly were intended to observe in dull harmonious respite, the congenital lack of a resolving creation myth or prime reason to exist, for anything to survive and billions of years lay dormant for the incidental arrival of our brains unwillingly limited to these strictures that were already set for us by the dawning of contumacious evolution without cause but local expedience, no matter the latest surge of scientific ingenuity or imagined promise in our comprehension of the universe’s layered and aimless design by scoping the hanging stars gripped by a listless Milky Way within speculative aeons of unshored blackness, only a dubious reasoning to our being ever spun and plied from the remaining equally unknowable shunted gaze of the cosmos.”
― Jacob H. Kyle, The Tedium Lies