Ennui

Scientists have proven that we are all generic products of the social system. Generic scientists have proven that we are all generic products of the generic system. Scientists who are themselves generic products of the generic system have proven in a series of conclusive studies that we are all generic products of the system that we are all generic products that we are all generic products that we are all generic products of the

 

I get so tired of myself sometimes; I get tired of everything about me. I try to escape this ennui by being a bit of a scampering madcap, by continually getting irritatingly excitable in various ways, by being a bit of a zany, over-the-top character but all of this is very wearisome too. I’m so bloody zany it makes me sick. It’s all horrifically wearisome. It is so very, very wearisome that it has become actual torture for me. My attempts to escape the unbearable tedium of my everyday life are of course themselves unbearably tedious. It makes me want to scream but I know that if I did then this would be unbearably tedious too. It would be infinitely tedious – like everything else I do. Something else to add to the list. It will inevitably prove to be infinitely wearisome for me. But then again, if I refrain from screaming, if I refuse to give in to the impulse to scream, then my not screaming will be equally tiresome for me. It will inevitably prove to be unspeakably tiresome…

 

I’m so tired of myself and yet I cannot escape myself. I’ve a feeling that I’ve said this before about a billion zillion times. I’m so tired and fed up of hearing myself explaining over and over again in various different ways how tired of myself I am and yet I have to do it because this represents my only chance of escaping from the awful tedium of my existence. I’m like a broken MP3 player. I’m like a banjaxed iPod.  It’s how I try to find relief from the grindingly wearisome repetitiveness of it all. It doesn’t work though. Nothing works. It’s not getting me anywhere, clearly. It just adds to it – it just adds another dimension of torture. I’m scraping my broken fingernails down the existential blackboard

 

 

 

 

 

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