There are times. At these times, I know. I know the truth. I don’t need anyone to tell me. I don’t need anyone to explain the nature of life, existence, truth or my self to me. I know. I know that I will suffer. I know that I will be miserable for the duration of my life. I know that there is absolutely no escape from it, and that nothing I do can change it. I can suffer and agonize and manifest my misery in different ways and in different circumstances and through different actions, but the amount and magnitude of the suffering and misery, the quantum of it, as it were, is not something that I will ever influence or even be able to. This is the truth. It does not matter whether I realize it, it does not matter whether I have even an inkling of it, and it does not matter whether I at all respect it. It is the truth, and the truth will prevail. I do not say this in a fit of self tortured misery. I do not say this out of depression. I do not say this out of a twisted, masochistic form of self-glorification (to the best of my knowledge).
There are moments when you predict some things, and you feel a calm acceptance of its truth. A small example of the same is the Nadal-Kyrgios match that took place during the period that I worked on this. I realize that some might call it a ‘gut feeling’, but if anything it’s exactly the absence of a gut feeling that describes this for me. The calm sense of knowledge, of assurance, of sheer mundane acceptance, that accompanies a prediction that the sun will rise in the east (which isn’t something I’ve ever verified, but there you go). This is what accompanies the element in my mind which makes these predictions. I don’t question it. I hardly respond to it apart from acknowledging its existence. This lack of reaction of course being part of the larger lack of any substantive reaction to the thought, of course.
FAILURE FAILURE FAILURE! MISERY MISERY MISERY! DECIEPT DECIEPT DECIEPT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! SCHADENFREUDE! SCHADENFREUDE! piss

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