It's a hydrogen jest. A trick from simplicity and necessity. A sentience conspiracy. You awaken and function and fall to sleep and continue until you do not. Those neural paths you fabricate are degradable. Your ideas are malleable and yet you are not. I witness too many short forevers. I behold insubstantial emotion wreaking pungent havoc on tenuous individuals. In disgust, I survey the partial visibility of my own imminent devastation. You could incite a torrential controversy. It may never be accurately judged and yet absolutely nothing would occur to you or anyone. You could devote your entire life to any thing. There's a chance you would ease some burden for someone. You wouldn't be thanked any more than superficial gratitude. Everyone can only be concerned with their own protagonist, and any attempt at offering assistance is for one's own selfish purposes. Hours spent lying awake and ruminating on minuscule factors of our pathetic lives. It's an exceedingly dull labyrinth where left and right, every time, will direct you toward the entrance which is mere steps from the exit anyway.  I wrote before of what could be more worthy of your time, but I'm not sure any such thing exists.