Death is all that's left for me. I know that sounds morbid, but it's true. Sometimes, in my less lucid moments, I imagine that I can recover from my losses, return to wage slavery as a willing sycophant, embrace the "ownership society," find a babe, and so forth. That's called denial, or what Ernest Becker labels the "vital lie." Fortunately, my subconscious has been operating on "automatic pilot" for the past six years in facilitating my exit from society. I am way past the point of no return.
Typical Communicative Hottie
As I mentioned previously, my only form of communication is the "blog." I can no longer carry even a brief conversation. Thus, I have long ago alienated myself from friends and family, leaving me with arbitrary acquaintances. Yes, even when I visit with my immediate family, including moms, I don't converse. My discussions, if any, are extremely terse. I don't share personal information with anyone either. Even readers of the "blog", whomever are left, know more about my life than the people around me. Heck, none of my acquaintances even know my name.
Devoid of any communication and interpersonal skills, I could never return to the "mainstream." Sounds odd, considering that I was once a pseudo-professor. I can easily speak (i.e., lecture) to large groups of people at length. So, fear is not the issue. My subconscious is no longer willing to allow me to interact with others except in the capacity of a passive bystander.
The only person that actually cares whether I am alive is moms. My bro could care less. And, that's the way it should be. The less sentimental connections, the better. The same applies to all connections, be it family, friends, material possessions, property, relationships. The more value we place on external entities, the more likely we must rely upon the "vital lie" to function. And, the harder it is to face the reality of death.
What then is important? How can we live in the moment and experience joy without the externalities? Well, we must become "comfortable in our own skin." We don't need to share our lives with anyone else. Our consciousness is our own unique experience. No one will understand anyone else's consciousness, which tends to override the presiding "theory of mind." And, to be honest, no one else really cares, no matter how convincing the feign of authenticity is. Let's face it, we only care about ourselves. Our interactions with others are only thinly-veiled co-dependencies.
My subconscious is also working toward its own goals in other ways. The near-psychotic divestiture of my material possessions is being accomplished by "automatic pilot" as well. My conscious self is weak and inundated with weak desires (read: fake needs). If my subconscious did not keep me in check, I'd be all over the place. My suspicion is that my subconscious will lead me to homelessness, but not out of reckless vanity. It knows what's best. If pushing my wretched self back down to the survival level is necessary for me to flourish, then that's what must be done. After all, what other purpose do I have?
Although, collectively, our purpose as humans is to survive and propagate our genes through reproduction, we can seek out personalized forms of purpose that could yield a sense of temporal meaning. There's nothing wrong with that as long as we realize its transient nature (i.e., nullification by death).
As for me ... well, my only purpose, other than survival, is to maximize my leisure time and minimize contact with other humans. I don't want to develop any hobbies or interests. I want to avoid any religious, political, or civic affiliations. I seek to own next to nothing. I don't want to join any communities. My sole activity is working out at the gym. Otherwise, I will spend my spare time curating the transient hurdy-gurdy video collection on the Nexus 7 tablet computer. Sheesh!
