Bartender, could I have absinthe and some crazy, transcendental talk?
Home. Wherever it is, it's not here, it's not Earth. It's far away, beyond the baryonic existence...
... or is there any home at all? Because whenever I try to imagine the afterlife, I feel something essentially devoid and endless. Sometimes it's a dark desert, perpetual night.
Let's just say that it's akin to Mars, but with sand, no water at all, no solid nor liquids, strong winds, wandering away from any star or quasar, and essentially endless... infinite sand, nothing else. There's no physics as it's known: it's just aethereal sand... I can't build a sand castle. I can't even hold the sand for so long before it vanishes.
Then I imagine life as some kind of fever dream, a coma-induced dream. An imagination of a fainted me, fallen on the sand. When I die, I wake up to the harsh reality: nothing, just sand and sandstorm. No one...
... perhaps another aethereal entity besides me? It _feels_, beyond the unbearable pain, like there's someone there, whom I should reach. But here's the catch: I've been walking for infinite aeons, literal eternities, trying to reach Her! I'm the Hadit, the infinitesimal point, trying to reach Nuit, the infinite circumference: while I'm essentially part of Her, "being" within Her, I can't even reach Her...
... yet I've been trying. I tried since I'm aware of my liminal existence beyond this fever dream I've been having. I walk for such an immeasurable distance, until I faint to a coma, where I imagine this life as I know it, until I "die", which makes me wake up to the same desert, over and over again. It's the exact same dream, the exact same suffering, the exact same pain, the exact same uncertainty. The exact same loneliness.
I yearn for a connection. I yearn for Her. I yearn for the impossible: to be One with Her. That's why I feel really, really bad and sad whenever I hear or talk about mundane relationships. It reminds me of my solipsistic journey across the endless desert that lies beyond this illusion of life. I'm alone here and I'm also alone there. I'm fated and condemned to be writing this text repeatedly every time I dream of this nightmarish life, over and over again.
I can't die, because I've been dying every time, because I always die! I'm a decaying photon repeatedly popping up into the illusion of an existence, being drowned by everlasting darkness.
Greetings, I'm a solipsistic Lucifer, the Godly Creator and the Adamic Creature, being punished by myself, crushed by own matterless matter, surrounded by my own delusional glimpse of existence, repeatedly falling towards the fallen cosmos, trying to find Her, trying to reach Her, trying to understand Her. Lilith, where art thou?
Bartender, another absinthe, please.