Satantango ★★★★

On the 4th day of my clinical drug trial...

NURSE: How are you feeling this morning?

ME: The cavernous hole in my head, a rupture the result of the incessant throbbing in my brain as it succumbs to the endless torment of existence, is matched only by the vacant pit in my stomach, consumed by resignation in the face of an eternity of pain. In the distance, carried by the cold frosts along the barren wasteland, I hear the wailing of a thousand souls, laid to waste by the unforgiving force that is the overwhelming indifference of the universe. These agonising sounds haunt my every second, shattering the curtain that shields my waking days from my tortuous slumber until there is no escape. Yearning, grovelling at the floorboards, for some sense of control over the abject chaos that is my life, I search for some lesser object on which I can exercise some minute degree of power, even if only for a fleeting second, to give some sense of order to the all-encompassing desolation, but amongst the cesspool of complete and utter inanity that surrounds me there is no activity in which I can find solace. The brandy has run dry, the cat has fallen silent, the accordion is a moaning, mocking demon that seizes the air and shakes it, rippling it around me with its violent, arrhythmic cycles. In my madness I begin to dance, to rock back and forward upon the sodden ground, joylessly stomping away at my sorrow until my bones are rattling. How I wish to drown, to choke on poison, to balance the cheese baguette on my head, to find an end. But there is no way out. Fumbling through the doorway, I wander blindly through the filth, the mud, belching and huffing through dense smoke as I am enveloped by the night, before collapsing in on myself, falling amongst the dirt, at my weakest and most base. I wallow in this misery, this self-inflicted flagellation of the body and mind, for it is the only thing onto which I may cling in this futile world. I have no choice but to submit myself to this punishment. The torrential rains beat me, lashings of tears from the heavens, for they are empty. All life is a fruitless quest, trudging along the road from one tragedy to the next. Damnation, sometimes disguised as salvation, plagues our every step. Hope disappears in the fog beyond the grey horizon, never to be reached. The hands of another will only grab and beat and steal from us - never to help us or hold us or love us the way we so desperately crave. This suffering is constant and forever. There is no end. The bells never stop ringing.


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