On Nothing

I need a prescription. Can you wake up.

Don't talk to me about value theory, metaphysics, virtues, or anything that puts me through a suffocating pain without even showing a hint to what I long for.

Life itself is a celebration. I forget who comes up with this twisted and ill saying, someone who got an overwhelmingly amount of believers practicing this spell like there follows an epiphany after they master the voodoos in their pity little minds. Never stop pleasing. Pleasing your boss, pleasing your friends, pleasing you families, pleasing your lovers, pleasing strangers, and of course, pleasing yourself. Pleasing yourself like no one ever does, in every possible way, with every trick that's known to the world, for whatever it takes, waves after waves, day in day out, everyone and anyone, with full speed to the extremity. This level of self assurance is borderline admirable, if admiration has a meaning. Like a bottomless hole, it's never enough. It's never close to. There's always something more, something better, something that lasts you longer, something booming out just now that might bring you transcendent pleasure. Living is like masturbating. You have your own ways, your routines, your priorities. You are addicted to the stimulations, attention, power, love, approval, feeling superior. The list goes forever. You hate being interrupted before you reach your goal, and the one after and after. The quest never ends. Sometimes you got helpers along the way, your family, friends, significant other, and even kind strangers. They guarantee you a higher density of pleasure, as doing such help them achieve theirs faster. The reciprocity is beautiful, if beauty entails anything real. Masturbating can be exhausting. So is living. Some becomes numb halfway which others refer to as losers. Some is too weary to finish. Some gets extremely hard to please as his practice matures. Some finds no pleasure at all and gets diagnosed as depression. Essentially, you are each other's clones with the same belief of uniqueness. You get the idea.

So what are we here for? Why do we need organisms to substantiate our already restless chaotic intoxicated life? If you ever asked yourself that question, do you think thinking, the mind games played by our ancestors a million times, can lead you to your answer? Or performing without thinking at all will get you there? How about delivering both? How is that better if at all? If you never questioned such before, why? Is that because you are intellectually incapable of processing the ideas or you just simply don't want to? Why you don't want to? What fuels you to get through the tedious rituals of living? How do you close them off without quitting the game? What is your secret formula?

I need a prescription. Give me my prescription.