A Stupid Suicide Note
Why live?
Nevertheless, a rhetorical question asked thousands of time by philosophical stalwarts and nutcases alike (who consider themselves as one).
Why did entropy go to all that trouble only to create something that had properties far different from it? (Maybe it was far reaching in its thoughts, and it somehow knew that humans could create far more chaos per cubic volume than it could ever manage!)
Why go to such lengths so as to create such symmetrical, shapely and systematic ass which shits out daily a condensed and compact package of garbled and grotesque mixture of chaos?
Don’t snap. I know that you aren’t exactly interested in some stupid asshole’s philosophy of life. Anyways, I ain’t no Darwin.
But in this spongy seat, whose sponge has been so pressed down by the stress that I have induced by applying a pressure through my ass for about the last 16 Earth-Analogous years, the upholstery had finally taken up so much beating that it won’t even discuss retention with me, as I continue to barter electronic money with a wide and variegated spectrum of human as well as machine bands, never had been a job so outrightly boring- crafted with so much dispassionate slothfulness, that I just die everyday yawning…
Forgive me for that last line. I am going through a phase of reading physics journal- the laws tend to be a bit long and difficult to sink in…
And don’t by any regard consider me a pervert, I am not obsessed with asses, but right now one of them is paining and I think it’s mine.
Never ever take Economics in high school if you think you can’t make it to higher echelons of educated lots in the top-notched universities across the country.
I have made that mistake and repenting ever since, searching for a considerate shoulder to splay my snot on, but all I have got is a Black Hole for a company and he by no means is interested in me.
Maybe he would be, if I walk down its front porch and walk in right through that door called event horizon (maybe I will).
Anyways, all he does presently is to gulp down chunks of meteor, comets and wayfaring screwed human beings alike, burping out radiations of things eaten aeons ago. Man, you stink!
Well, it’s time I cut slack and get rolling with my business.
Yah, I am a TOLL TAX Man- on weekdays when you head for great adventures ahead across multiple dimensions and universes alike you might find me mopping the floor of my cabin, sometimes giving friendly advice, out of which gazillion things you should take care or better feed in your ship computer to save yourself being zapped from that big monster. It’s me in that yellow company shirt.
As I majored in Economics, as a part of my job designation, I have to check the functionality of every little probe passing through the hole, grade it and display the results on the internet- as the odds that this probe would make it through the other side of the portal in a universe never ventured before and so that’s the reason that few smart gamblers were attracted to this gig and build a very plush building on the Earth with a very bland name ‘SPACE PROBE STOCK MARKET.’ Well, government lost one more job to the public. Every single probe on its little science expedition is being funded by public enterprise.
Rules are pretty simple. If your probe discovers something path breaking- prices of the shares escalate, while if your probe hits rock or starts producing blurry images- prices dip. And at no point am I allowed to interfere with the space probe. I am not even allowed to carry out the repairs as that would be cheating!!!
So as a worker worth his salt, I copy-paste the readings generated from my computer as it scans down every nook and cranny of the space probe, displaying it on the net as it’s annual report.
People bet. Prices rise or fall. Machines make it through the black hole or are zapped, but you my dear reader blame it on the TOLL TAX Man. Is it my fault that out of all improbabilities and hidden intricacies involved your probe chances upon the one so downright depressing for your pocket that you hit me with spams and hate letters?
You curse me, jeer me, assume that I took a graft from your competitor, threaten me, use abusive language- bloody hell, I have reached a saturation point.
I have seen better days when little boys and girls would ride here Sunday Evening just to get a testosterone high. They would see, who could go near the Big Babe, before defaulting (that was of course when the Probability Warps were erratic), we did have a couple of accidents but that added to the thrill, I did manage to strike few romances, I was young.
Here I am at the end, an Earthian Human’s life just trickle of seconds from this part of the world. It’s a slow world out here and it getting boring each passing day (analogous!). Well I am alone, frustrated, crave for a company, talk to myself, break things around in one of my violent spasms, cry a lot, am suffering from insomnia, my vital body function gone dormant and my mind numb due to all that inactivity. Well all other toll tax cabins are run by robots, their human workers long dead. The authorities fear for my well being- telling me I would not be able to cope up with Earth and its noise at all. They are silently waiting for me to take that final step. For years I have resisted walking along this aisle, but here I am walking that unfamiliar path with death as my guide.
So let me type in my obituary……
R.I.P.
Here lies a guy (figure of speech) forgotten,
Down the annals of history which teems with a Kirk or Spock
Here lies a guy who was attracted to the glam and glitz
Of the Space Travel which ultimately heralded his death, doomed to boredom.
Just thinking of giving my neighbor a friendly call……….Good Bye…
Alienman 