I had this weird idea, I was in the middle of writing this "open letter" to my soulmate in an attempt to somehow "reach out" to this person whom I've never met before in my entire life, but is somehow is cosmically destined to be the right woman for me. Then I read how fucking silly and sappy it was getting so I deleted that fucking mockery of reality. I mean really, looking in the mirror at the reflection of my life, I see a guy that can't even get a phone number from a girl whom he caught her momentary interest. How can I find "Ms. Right" when I can't even find "Ms. Right Now". My "soulmate" is the summit and I'm having problems just trying to set up base camp.

Still I can't help but think that there is just one person that's willing to share her life with me and that that we might have the chance to know and experience each other inside and out. I can't help but wonder if it's the reason I am still breathing despite my pondering and wishing of my life and my pain to just cease, that I may be freed of this mortal shell, this Judas of a life. I mean what is left for me to experience? I have felt the elation I have suffered the pain, I've known what is is like to sink into the void or nothingness. I have no desire to leave my mark or my legacy in this world. I have no overwhelming need to "spread my seed".

If anything my quest for personal evolution has alienated me from the rest of humankind. How can people relate to me on the highest levels when they can't even relate to me on the basest of levels? I can't remember the last time I've talked to someone about philosophy, life, physics or even love, passion, joy or anything even remotely profound. Who cares what the fucking weather is like? I spend half my fucking day in a cubicle with no windows. Fuck the weather! I swear it's like I'm on a fucking different planet and everything I say gets lost in the translation. I fucking feel like breaking something but when I do after the brief moment of satisfaction has passed I'm left wondering why the fuck did I just do that?

I've been struggling with this idea but I think I finally got this fucking existence figured out. Ultimately life is just fucking empty and meaningless. Sure there are moments of meaning moments of epiphany but those are just brief manifestations created in the mind or minds of those that experience it. I keep wondering if there is something beyond the randomly swirling particles that make up that which is around us. I can come up with something but that things exists only in my mind. I can share whatever epiphany I may divine for myself those who choose to listen, but in the end we all are going to die anyway so what's the point.

Choose joy, choose suffering it doesn't matter when you wind up as fucking worm food or dust inside a dainty silver-plated urn. So if nothing you do matters doesn't that make you free to do anything? Perhaps it does. From this standpoint I want to do anything and everything. It's bewildering for someone who wants nothing more than to cease to exist to feel so much hunger. Perhaps it is the fear that my needs will never and perhaps could not possibly ever be satisfied that fuels my desire for non-existence. I mean I'm not even coming close so what's the fucking point?

But then I challenge my desire from non-existence. If I am truly committed to this idea why have I not destroyed myself? To fall freely from the balcony of my high-rise apartment and have my bones crush and my flesh and blood splatter against concrete. To ride the bullet train to oblivion, the barrel of a gun in my mouth with a spinning hollow-point projectile piercing the back of my throat then collapsing outward rapidly pushing my medulla oblongata and the rest of my cerebrum against the back of my skull then shattering it into fragments spraying the beautiful white wall behind me with pieces of what was once me. To leap in front of a fast-moving elevated train, having my flesh pounded by tons of steel, being dragged under that moving steel box, being torn to shreds by steel wheels and steel railing with my blood causing a high voltage third rail short circuit. To all you fucks who think I talk too much about sex, you can add death to my list of favorite subjects.

But back to the question, why haven't I destroyed myself, I haven't I found my "inner-oblivion"? Well damn, that's a good fucking question. I don't know why. Perhaps it is curiosity, to see what happens next. I mean I'm going to fucking die anyway, that can't be avoided. I just don't know when or where. If I'm lucky I get to die with my eyes open, I get to see it happen, I get to say "finally, what took you so fucking long..." But until that happens, I'm waiting for my predictable, dull and boring life to grow teeth, bite me in the ass and surprise the hell out of me.

The rub is that I'm starting to get tired of fucking waiting around. I want to grow teeth and bite life in the ass. I want to see how tasty the flesh of life is. Is it bitter My lifetime has been a careful exercise in patience. Derrick, the fucking nice, quiet, gentle and eternally patient guy, oh how I loathe him... Come to think of it, all my urges as of late, especially my sexual ones has been out rejection and despise for the mundane person I have become.

Mediocrity has me in bondage and like a cruel dominatrix she is cracking the whip raising welts in my flesh, laughing at me, taking satisfaction at the tears welling up in my eyes. I want to chew through these patent-leather restraints I want to free myself of this cruel mistress. Make her feel the back of my hand and make her my bitch. *ahem* But I digress, where the hell is all this coming from? Goddamn sexual frustration...

Seriously now, I need to take control of myself and my life. I want this to be a life worth living, not a life where I'm standing in the waiting line of death, sighing because my fucking number hasn't come up yet. Change must come right now. I want this, I need this, I must make this happen and I will let nothing, not even all these little bitch failures, stop me.