Thought Repository

It happened overnight. 5 billion years of evolution were halted in the collective span of a few hours. The tatters of my godforsaken life, or whatever one may have called it, floated towards the inferno that burned through the history books. Machine learning became Machine Learned. Computers saved the world.

In the functional society that held true until that fateful day, I was a speck of dust. A cog in the wheel. A generic metaphor in an essay that rambled on and on with no end goal in sight. As human life should be. Well, at least if you don’t factor in the Fermi paradox.

If that intro sounded cliché to you, that’s because it is. Real life tends to do that sometimes. Unfortunately, the rest of the story attached to it will remain in suspended animation, because the infinite loop that is my procrastination has taken hold of my brain and crashed it several times.

I can’t really explain the way I procrastinate. It’s almost as if I’m procrastinating the very idea of living.

This is not the essay of a man who researched cancer cures. This is not the essay of a man who got into all the ivy leagues. This is not the essay of a billionaire living on a yacht off the coast of Monaco.

And if my lack of being in any of those scenarios categorized me as being unsuccessful, it reveals not a lot about me, as a person, but more so the reader, and the way the human brain is predestined to make a choice.

This is the essay of a man who has no idea what to do with himself, with neither the work ethic nor the skills to find himself in a position he deems successful.

Whatever creative juices are ebbing through my brain right now should be going towards my homework, not whatever piece of post-apocalyptic slam poetry that critiques modern society which we live in and the fact that our futures are determined not by knowledge but by the amount of work we can do. Whoa. I guess you don’t have to read any further. Go be productive for a while.

Okay, are they gone? At this point I assume that I’m either addressing someone who cannot be productive (target audience) or maybe just one of my relatives or close friends who are reading, because, as surprising as it may seem, I’m not a New York Times Bestselling author just yet.

But enough about my lack of credentials. Let’s get into the juice. I’ll try my best to keep this pulp-free but my blender of a brain doesn’t always work as advertised. Our society is defined by success, which, quite simply, is a mental construct. It always will be. It’s a consequence of being sentient, that there is always an end goal. And yet, the answer to life remains ambiguous, becoming the topic of intense psychological debate, scientific/evolutionary discussion, and even having attempted to be quantified (see integer between 41 and 43), yet with efforts leading to no avail. Expression, which used to be a byproduct of living, suddenly dipped behind a set of statistics, beliefs, and general groupings. Uniqueness, as a whole, has come under the definition of a new word: pariah.

Every day we seek validation from people, who in turn seek their own validation. In layman’s terms, this creates a power struggle which, after years of desperate fighting, led to the inception of the social constructs in which so many people seek refuge. Cliques, popularity, and the like. Although they form organically at first with common interest, it’s quite clear that there are other underlying motives that drive the magnetism that makes the Instagram and Snapchat spheres so interconnected. But then again, the opinion of the pariah such as myself doesn’t even matter. So what good is a critical analysis except for the sake of spite?

Whatever, I guess I just like to watch myself write.

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