The desire, indeed act of presenting anything in a conflated philosophical language must surely require the pleasure of the individual making the otherwise painful effort toward articulating himself.
On this occasion I do not have the patience nor the wilful desire for such a pleasure, which would lead to the conflation of my musings into some analogous form, in turn leading me to not sufficiently express the extent to which I, dear friends, am at a loose end.
I cannot hope to challenge the bleakness which you prescribe upon my worldview. I cannot hope, since I have tried and tried, far more hopeful than any of you could believe, to combat the absurd; to find interaction beyond affectation. And yet each time the promise of the former delivers the cruel and hopeless reality of the latter.
The worst of it arises from those who profess and obsess over the primary presence of interaction, and instead deliver me affectations in a crueller manner, warranted by this deception of their professed ideals.
To profess that one must resolve one’s own absurd crisis is to consign each stricken fellow to a world under the floorboards, never to be seen again; led by one's own convictions, one is merely a stranger to this world.
Through my rebutted attempts at escape, I can similarly decide that it would be folly to want to amend this worldview on the basis of convictions entirely centred on another being, when the sort of change requested emanates from the greatest centre of absurdity that a man could ever witness.
The conclusion? Don't change, and not merely because it isn't possible.
For all this, I am at a loose end, directionless, and merely consigned to the wind:
So at a loose end,You take it, and lose it.
Life changes, change for anyone
Change for no one;
Greet the end, of all things.All outside this consciousness,
Everything escapes, confuses itself,
The Loose end returns unto itself.
And with nowhere to goCallousness climbs;
It renders a hopeful boy
Before a hopeless vagrant,
And explains the boy’s surrender.