A Living Death: Monologue

Read. Write. Read.

I guess that everyone has a different vibe, a different essence. All that ever flowed out of me was a certain world-weariness, fatigue. A psychopath is someone with an empathy switch, the ability to regulate empathy, turn it on and off; surely this assists them in maintaining their facade of normalcy. I bring this up because I possess something similar - an apathy switch. In public I can suspend my deep rooted ambivalence. I can care, project my opinions, be something akin to passionate. 

But back in my lonely apartment I flip back the switch. Reverting back to my default setting I become almost dormant, docile. Life, energy, movement, these words are all erased from my vocabulary. In the modern world it is so easy to sit, pacified by pure light. Information saturation, it happens to the point where we even forget to consume the false reality we are inhabiting - well, at least I do.

It comes to something when you find yourself paying attention to your own lack of attention. 

There is a part of me which realises this is a profound tragedy. Some deep part of me. Yet, the rest of me responds so strongly to this modern passivity. I am cattle, no, I am one step lower than our bovine friends because I have this consciousness... I can comprehend my slavery, subjugation, submission and yet I remain incapable of removing the shackles of despondency and complacency. 

So this is why I turn to you stranger, the one who knows nothing of my exterior self, the one who only knows my maddening interior now. Do you think I can escape my nature, my latent laziness? Do you even believe we have  a nature, a persona, or is this a ploy we use to comfort ourselves? 

Do we hide behind the concept of innate character as a means of convincing ourselves that we don't have to change? We're incapable so why even try? And what do you make of my musings on our modern environs? Do you accept my proposition when I posit that they act as a catalyst, speeding up the chemical reaction which sees the will converted into something benign, ineffectual? 

Most importantly can I be free? Free from this inertia, this thing which can only be called a living death? Tell me stranger, tell me. 

Reviews

[Norah]

I can relate to this piece a lot. Every line, every word just describes what I feel very often. It has true emotions in it and I really like it. And again, I'm amazed