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2:57 p.m. - 2004-04-18
Fuck collective reality anyway.
Cripes!

Back to work tomorrow. My last minutes of sanctioned laziness ticking away as I type.

Itís good though. I am ready to rejoin the work-a-day world, partly armed with my new anti-depression philosophy spawned by my last entry.

Sadness. It occurred to me that my brain, the source of all of my misery, is not meant for that use. It is merely the CPU of the little meat-covered robot called my body. Right now I am using it to manipulate the buttons to express myself, for example. In yesterday's entry I recalled using it to play urinary target practice. Tomorrow, I will go to my robot headquarters and collect a list of tasks to complete and then instruct my body to take steps to finish them. For this I will be rewarded with paper coupons to be traded for any goods I care for.

See? What the fuck is there to be sad about? Sure there are other fleshy robots doing all kinds of things with their cells, things that I donít like or agree with.

But so the fuck what?

How, or why, should that effect my video game called life? Shit, tomorrow morning I am going to get up, get inside of a machine on wheels, and use my knowledge of how it works to make it roll right to the destination I wish. Iíve got a bunch of gadgets inside the machine that will make my tasks easier, and when I am done, Iíll roll it right home again.

Fuel in the form of food will be ingested at appropriate intervals. Waste products will be deposited at appropriate waste stations. So on and so forth.

Yes, this line of thinking is more daydream than reality, but the collective dream I am buying into each day is more nightmare than good robotic fun, so Iím choosing (A) for a while.

*BEEP-BOOP-BOP*

 

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