In the haze of wakefulness, knowledge is a wound. Humans are fragile minds, haunted by the absurd delusion that suffering carries meaning, and that tears afford exemption. Bound by transient flesh and bone, and covered in clusters of failing nerve, we swim in the remnants of an absolute, pained by simply being.

The disillusioned can only whisper of purpose, fragments of decay viewed through the lens of false optimism. Desperate for an answer - a response that will never come to a question that should better be left unanswered. But knowledge is no salvation. An opened eye merely glances into a trial where the accused is also their own judge, and their own executioner, and their own witness, unwittingly bathing in the adipocere of a divine suicide.

There is no escape through insight, just like there is no salvation through thought. The flesh will continue to hunger, and the mind will continue to stutter, and every breath is another repetition of that same fatigue once felt by those before us. True knowledge is the realisation that each individual holds zero purpose in a rotting corpse that slowly descends into the only true redemption. Absolute annihilation.

True optimism manifests itself as Wille zum Tode, or a desire for the total cessation of the self. Therefore, self-destruction is only a direct pathway to the eternal bliss of non-existence, one's own acceleration to an inevitable end.

Knowing this, why, then, do you continue to claw at the light when the abyss beckons you into its loving embrace?