I am no longer on social media. And recently I have started turning my phone off entirely. For days at a time. I’m unemployed and without any need for it.

I feel very lonesome much of the time, but I don’t think much of the artifice of friendship and camaraderie projected by text messages and social media whatnot. It’s pointless drivel.

The only thing that’s real is presence.

Nobody ever knew me in reality, so dispensing of the bogus social media artifice leaves me alone with myself, a condition to which I grow accustomed. It will be how it is until I’m dead. It’s kind of how it has always been.

The world in my time has been a decaying disappointment. No one from my family or the nation of my birth cares for me, or if I live or die, I’m an irrelevancy to them, or worse, for what I have become away from there.

The nation I was dragged to as a child, considers me an idiot immigrant. I have always felt horrifically trapped, surrounded by ignorant, deluded zombies who loyally parrot jingoistic or corporate slogans to promote to me a pseudo-nation, invented by profoundly racist and genocidal Europeans. They don’t care a thing about me.

I have no home. No family. And no real friends. I sleep mostly in hotels now. Alone

Moving now, through this world, I see things from an outsider’s perspective – slower, more deliberate. I feel it’s a more honest appraisal of these strange people all around me, who act progressively more superficial, less caring. They live in echo chambers of limited truths.

I have trained myself to think freely for decades and am proud of my independent understanding of our world.

I wish I could communicate my thoughts to … well to anyone, really.

But I am a failed writer.

I make things I feel few understand, but which to me speak loudly about my perceptions. But worse, deep within me are trapped four decades of painful and brilliant thoughts I cannot get out because of the complex social barriers the digital generation erects to being able to consider them.

It’s irrelevant because I have no audience and most people think I am crazy or ill – which I firmly deny.

I am the direct product of my circumstances which were a bullshit Truman Show of selfish, arrogant morons telling me lies about the world and my place in it

What to do … what to do … what to do?

Right. I think that about covers it for today.

Love,

Karthik