How did I get to be so privileged? There are people being murdered and here I am the height of hubris. I can do literally nothing all day and it doesn't cause a single problem. My existence meaningless, neither beneficial nor detrimental. And yet. I hate myself obviously. That much is abundantly clear. I hate because I have so much and do so little with it. I have at my disposal the means to accomplish so much, and all I seem to want to do is make myself miserable. I swear my computer is lying to me about what is happening. I can hear the disk accesses as some far away or present other reads my data. Stop the platter spinning, arm traversing! Vocal commands meaning nothing to anyone. Fine I'll remove the power. That's the kind of murderer I am. I'll murder your whole family, symbolically, by proxy. If I can't find some-quiet-where it's just me and these keys then I will make the where be quiet. Quiet your neighborhood of its spinning platter by cutting the cord between nerve and synapse. The electrical pixies silenced and the connection to hivemind severed I can be at peace with this moment, Wax lyrical about how shitty this situation is. Between having everything I could possibly want, and unable to affect a single thing. Don't send me back to those places I have been. I don't want to have to literally kill to survive. I don't want to have to be that me again. I know that when it's kill or be killed I kill. I attack preemptively. I attack indiscriminately. In escalation of aggression I move from ignoring minor offence to purging the offender, without gradient. I got here not because of any wisdom or intelligence but by being more savage than anyone else. I don't want to be that anymore. I'm in a privileged position to say that. I'm so lucky I don't have to be violent to eat. I'm so lucky to be able to walk down the street at 2 am in the rain with a shield over my head to protect it from the acidic water. How in the hell can I complain About making a video about cooking. How can I complain when the dirtiest thing I have to deal with is a banana peel left in a sink? What the ever living shit is wrong with this world that I can be in a position that is so blessed And yet Feel so ill at ease and sick with myself. There are people who can't eat because they got stabbed over the bread they had to steal. There are people who walking at night get beaten to death by men with axes just because they have Some terf they want to flex in. That's the real physical reality. Be grateful that when I murder you it's temporary Done with words Or done with the pull of a copper wire. Done by disconnecting the universal serial bus. Done symbolically and just to have a little quiet so I can bitch about how privileged I am. .

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