Thought Itself Is a Weapon
Consciousness is the gift that keeps on fucking up your life.
You’re born, you don’t ask for this whole “thinking” business, and suddenly you’re stuck with this horrible little parasite in your head, bitching at you nonstop about everything. You’re constantly aware, constantly thinking, feeling, judging, analyzing, and half the time it’s about things you have zero control over. It’s like having a mental dictator who can’t even agree with itself.
Being conscious isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s like someone handed you a magnifying glass and said, “Here, now you get to obsess over every mistake, every regret, and every stupid thing you’ve ever said.” And while you’re busy punishing yourself with guilt and shame, that voice in your head is never satisfied. It’s like a dog chasing its own tail, only the dog has an existential crisis and is convinced it’s going to die alone.
The violence of consciousness is that it makes you aware of everything. It forces you to look at suffering—your own, the world’s, the fact that every day is a tiny funeral march leading to your inevitable death. And then what does your lovely consciousness do? It makes you feel the suffering. You’re not just aware of it, you have to feel it in your gut, like a constant reminder that life is an endless shitstorm, and you’re just sitting in the front row with popcorn, trying not to puke.
But it gets worse. This awareness isn’t just about death or suffering; it’s about everything. You can’t enjoy anything because you’re hyper-aware of every little detail: the fact that your food has pesticides, that people are walking around wearing their emotional baggage like an accessory, and that your breathing is just one more thing you can’t turn off. And then the existential violence kicks in. You start thinking about how pointless it all is, how you’re a blip in the universe and then nothing. Isn’t that the best thought to have when you’re trying to take a nap?
Your consciousness isn’t just concerned with you, oh no. It’s also hyper-aware of other people, constantly measuring, comparing, and judging. You think you’re just sitting there enjoying a coffee, but no, your consciousness is running simulations of how others perceive you, whether you said something stupid 10 years ago, or if you just ate that sandwich like a slob. You’re never gonna escape this—it’s you, stuck in your head with no off-switch.
Consciousness isn’t just uncomfortable—it’s like having a rock in your shoe 24/7. It makes you aware of everything you could be doing wrong, of every flaw, every bad decision, and every missed opportunity. You know you’re going to die, but hey, here’s a gift: here’s a brain that reminds you constantly about your inevitable demise. It’s like being in a prison of your own making, but instead of bars, you’re locked in with endless thoughts of doom, because your mind is ruthless.
In the end, consciousness doesn’t make us better. It doesn’t make us happy. It just makes us aware—and that awareness is violent. It’s the most violent thing that’s ever happened to you. Because, damn, it’s a never-ending, self-inflicted torture session, and no matter how hard you try to run away from it, there’s no escape. You can numb it with distractions or booze, but it’s always there, waiting to remind you that you are conscious, and you are stuck with it.