Wednesday, July 14, 2004


What IS the point? What IS the fucking point? I try to understand, I try to take charge of myself, be positive, optimistic. Then I come here, sit in silence in front of this screen, pretending to find things to do. The words on the emails swim before my eyes; I’ve read them all but still they have no meaning. One word follows another; they seem to obey grammatical laws yet I can’t decode them, find any meaning, any purpose in them. Just one disjointed valueless word after another. Written by minds that seem to work on different principles to mine. Or mine to theirs.

And does it matter if there’s any sense in there anywhere? Would it make any difference to anything, anyone, anywhere? I could fall under a bus tomorrow, and apart from an empty seat here there’d be no difference to this organisation. I come here because in return for the presence of body in this room, money is placed in my bank account each month. I don’t actually have to DO anything, achieve anything, fulfil any purpose. Just go through the motions; tap keys, like I am now. Tap, tap, tap. Busy, busy, busy. Pretend it all matters.

What a waste.

Ok, I’ll get back in my box now and carry on tapping. Or maybe one day smash the box to smithereens. One day…

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