The Scorpion and the Toad

A recurrent theme I have noticed throughout my entire life regardless of the deed done or not done, the mask worn or not worn, the love shown or the love unrequited, it has always come to a final reduction. If the principle of reductio ad absurdum is applied to any facet of my life you reach the same conclusion, or rather question that you always get from me. Why? Why are you like this, why are you so detached, why are you so cold? Why are you so cruel, why don't you care for anything or anyone. Why can't you take life seriously. Why dear, oh please tell me, why? I just am. It is who I am and just because there is a way that things ought to be does not mean that they will be that way. Just because morality is a la mode does not mean I am moral. And I will never change. If you expected a more satisfying resolve, then it is your fault for believing that your influence could have ever changed my nature. I am not evil, I am the most neutral and indifferent. I am an empty man. I am a callous man. I am a hollow man. It is in my nature to be.

Miscellaneous

I have no idea what I am doing by typing this sequence of language right now. I think I am just watching my fingers type as I enter and repeat so many of the nearly identical key strokes. I would say I am typing at about the same rate I am thinking, or rather not the rate, but am typing as I think and nothing more than what I am thinking currently. As of now I am focused on this keyboard. I am the only Psychopath I know for sure in my life and am probably one with a genius IQ. As in actually in that range of IQ mine has ranged between 128 to 147. 147 is definitely genius level. But as far as devotion goes, I am an under achiever. I am the most uncommitted, irresponsible, apathetic person I know. Nothing perturbs my heart. Nothing can. I put no emotional investment into grades or anything of the sort. I have no earthly aspirations, not desires. I have no life plan. There are things I want to do, and certainly am capable of doing, but these are no more than a hippies pipe dreams because of my unprecedented traits of detachment from responsibility. It is interesting. People have told me throughout my entire life that I am by far the most intelligent person they had ever met. I brushed those statements off as the feeble minded compliments you get from stupid people. I never really cared. They asked why my grades are so poor, why I had no mates, why I was so detached, and I truly didn't know. In fact I still don't. Nothing matters. If it weren't for the fact that I have no wish to die I would commit suicide because life is just so boring. Nothing seems to satisfy. This is not depression, it is hard to explain. It is as if I am too enlightened for my own good. As if I reached a point of knowing that life is not going to get any better ever and the most logical thing any person could ever do is kill themselves. I would be the type to kill myself just because of how rational it seems. I am a blase apathetic creature with not a care in the world. I love one person but even my care for that person would not be enough to keep me from doing anything that affected them or at least had the potential to. I am curious as to what is wrong. Why is it nothing matters. I have left behind many friends before in my life. In the space of a day, I abandoned everyone. Every aspect of my life is a lie, It is weird. I have a true me and a false me. The true me is boring uninteresting, cold detached evil bastard. The false self I have is everything you want it to be, emotional supportive, interesting, and charming. I go between many false selves to even my true self. It is like carrying around a bag of masks and putting on the one best suited for your current situation. I have a bag with an infinite amount of space and an infinite amount of masks though. I wear them because the true me is too terrifying for normal people. I cannot be myself. I don't feel the need to be either. I am not a young teenage rebel with a need for a sense of identity. I am an empty with no identity. The only identity I have is the one I fake. I suppose this is a tragedy to normal people. I try and try to get what I want by any means necessary. I loathe boredom. I detest it. In fact, all my life is spent trying to avoid being bored. To get sex, drugs and entertainment. I have not lived life for anything. Not ever. It is truly a little boring piece of the universe. I wonder how others are not as empty as I am. I enjoy things that are wrong to others. I am living a damned life. I hate everyone, as individuals and as part of humanity. I despise all happiness, and enjoy all suffering. I hate my own family. I hate them so, they are weak minded wastes of vessels. They do not deserve to go on living. I wish I was not so prone to boredom. I would end them myself if I it wasn't something that would get me stuck in a room for the rest of my life being bored. Maybe I lied when I said I don't care about anything. What I meant was, I don't care about anything but myself. And even when it comes to myself, I don't care enough. Hatred, bitter resentment, of a nature so vicious and cruel, so malevolent and rancorous, so spiteful and brutal, that none could understand. Being around people is just a pain. They are the root of all suffering. I wonder sometimes if being so intelligent is a problem. I think my mind may just be so different from the rest of the worlds. At a young age I realized I could not be taught anything. I had to teach myself. It didn't work any other way. I could teach myself a weeks worth of school materials in ten minutes, but only if I was in control. Not subject to the scrutiny and haphazard pace of the general student body. My grades in secondary certainly didn't reflect my immense learning capabilities. I need to find something to do.