A plea from the void

There once was a man on a high house, he stood as he acted and never looked down. 

A man on a high house he was, once word got out people gathered.

But not for him, no but for the house. As the man was just a temporary setback to the house.

Now time passes and seasons come as they go, but neither the  man nor the house passes.

They stand the test of time, as the man was neither man nor the house a house.

They were all words on a paper in the mind of one Carl Kuningsberg, though Carl loved his thoughts the man and the high house stood out to him. 

As in his infinite void they kept reappearing, Carl was utterly fascinated with the man, as nobody paid any attention to the man but rather the high house. 

What made the high house so important wondered Carl as he stared into the infinite abyss of the void.

What is the high house if not metaphor, or is the high house just the high house Carl wondered. 

There is nothing saying either thought is correct however Carl ebbed to think maybe none of them were important, as time degrades and destroys all.

Well that is what time should do if it was anything more than a concept, Carl knew that concepts were a thing even though he had never experienced them.

Why were they a thing you ask, well because Carl saw it as such, he thought it so therefore it was as such.

Millenia and infinity times infinity is the time Carl has had to come up with the thought that, if in fact maybe it isn't just a truth that things are that might not be for he has thought them up.

Maybe, it's all a lie. But why would he be him and be here if that was the truth. 

Carl understood, this had something to do with the man. But he couldn't put his fingers on  what that was. 

I stand here in an infinite void, of infinite time wondering and thinking. Yet I never stand to ask, "who am I?" was it  really that simple, was that all I had to ask.

But why was it so, does that mean anything, I am Carl and if I am not then who am I?

I ask such baseless questions I am who I am, I am the thinker or the one who ponders I presume, if not then what is my purpose?

Have I ever existed if not to think, and if so what did I do before?

Why did I try to remember my name if it wasn't important to me? Are names important to things, am I still human without a name? Am I human?

What am I?

I am nothing, I think but do I think? My though exist as I think of them but If I stopped thinking then would I still exist, I am nothing but thoughts.

From nothing to nothing, from dust to dust, earth to earth we come from nothing and to nothing we shall return…

Where is that from, why do I know yet I don't know, nothing exists and everything exists. 

I am yet I am not… I don't want to not exist, I don't want to die, If I don't exist then what is there to anything, I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared, please don't let me die I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die help me help me help me help me help me, If I cease to be then I won't be afraid but I REALLY DON'T WANT TO DIE.

What is there to existence, being in a void but I'm scared of not thinking, as I truthfully don't want to die.

I have thought up everything, but I am alone. How can I do the things in which I think of if I am alone in a void.

Please let me not be alone, I want to do things but I am here without anything.

I would rather do the things I think of even the bad things than to be alone.

Being alone with my mind is scary as I can't stop thinking about all the bad things that could happen and definitively can't happen. I am alone, yet I want to be…

I want to be loved and I want to be, I just want to be.

To exist, I exist but only to think, without any love or any pleasure.

Do I really exist or is this just a decay.  I don't want to be stuck in this endless torture of the mind, I'd rather much die is what I would say… BUT I AM REALLY AFRAID OF DEATH.

I don't want to die, please don't let me die. I am stuck with my thoughts, this is torture worse than death. Yet I don't want to die, because that is scarier. 

How can the people in my thoughts give themselves and their lives to something, that is too scary. I don't want death it is scary and yet. They give themselves without a second thought.

If only my thought exists, then what of the others in my thoughts do they also think.

And if they do, do they also feel  the same dread I am feeling right now, well not right now because now isn't a time.

Well time doesn't exist, isn't it funny how thoughts divert from subject to subject when it's only you and your mind and nothing else ever will or has existed.

Actually how would you know, you can only think and in the end it only does so much for you.

Now that I think of it, who is 'you' Am I speaking to myself in third person? What is going on, I… don't know.

Hmmmm

The man on the high house, ah yes there was that.

Why was he important, yes… he was important because he existed didn't he?

Well he might have existed, but I don't really remember anything about him, except that he was on a high house and people wanted his house.

But is that really a memory?

They say you die twice, once when you die and the second time when people don't remember you anymore.

Does that mean I am keeping the man on the high house alive right now?

It did say he outlived his house after all, wait did it say that? I don't remember, Well in the end he was happy… probably.

I hope I can be happy, I really do hope that I can  exit this void, or that maybe I can live in one of those thoughts I keep having.

One of the good ones would be appreciated, I really want love. Well I don't like the idea of death either, I actually hate it.

But is death really needed, it probably is in the thoughts. Because a thought much like a dream needs to end at some point.

I wish it doesn't end at all if it's a  good one, I want to be happy in my dream or in my thought I don't want to die I don't want to die…

I don't want to stop thinking yet I don't want this at all, I just want this all to end but I don't it's scary if it ends because I like this.

I'm used to it, so this ending would be scary. Not as scary as dying but right up  there with dying. I just want to exist peacefully, but can I really do that if I can't love nor experience my thoughts?

I don't know but I wish to experience the things I can do, I really do.

But it never ends does it?

It's like torture.

Eternal mental anguish, with pauses of clarity and then back to a panicked strive for reason, a reason to exist.

I hate it and I hate myself. But why should I hate myself, I love myself.

I am me and I am… Who was I now again, something k or something. Klark? That must be it berg something, Klark Denberg? That must be it.

But what of the man in the high house? Is he still there or is he asleep too.

Why was he important now again, did he do something or was he a big figure in my own thoughts. Is the house destroyed?

Why is the man in the high house in a high house and why is the house a part of his identity.

I don't understand it myself, even though I came up with it. Why am I losing touch on things so rapidly, this isn't like me. Usually I… Usually? 

Isn't this the first train of thought I have ever had in my entire being or… wait why is it that I have pre concieved ideas of what is and what isn't, why do I know things that exist and have been and why do I think?

What am I and why am I, this is all so confusing. 

Is that all which I am? A train of thought, there must be more to me. Wait, did I just make an assumption to what I am, wasn't I Klark Borg or something. 

God this is going downhill fast, haha… God, now that is a concept let me tell you what. What a thing that one, something immortal, something that makes us not disappear.

I wish I had a god, well nothing exists then I must be god. But that's too scary a thought, so I can't be god as that would mean that I can never love or be anything.

But if there was a god, then please let me be happy, I just want to be happy to any capacity at all. I want love if that is to much to ask for… God? GOD?

Nothing, guess that answers that question. Now what is there to think about, I don't want to stop thinking as that would most likely mean that I cease to be.

I don't want to cease, I want to exist. But I can't exist forever, I can't exist forever as that would be too much of a burden to bear for one single entity.

I just wish to exist until the good thoughts stop and the love which I hoped for arrives then starts turning sour.

I don't want to stop existing before any of that, I just want to exist long enough for me to have the things which I wish for. Well at least the ones that I wish for the most, like the one about love. 

Then I can stop thinking I guess, I guess it might be okay to die at that point.

I'm not afraid to die at that point I guess, I feel at peace thinking of dying at that point.

Earlier than that and I feel disgusted and scared, I don't want to die before I find love, it is scary and disgusting and I don't want what is left outside of that which allows me to think to be on display to the whole world.

Dying is scary, I don't want an entity to exist that is me but without me. That would be horrible, I just want everything to be good.

I want to be happy and without worry, I wish for these simple things and at that point I would stop thinking without worry, at that point I would die.

Before then and I am afraid of what is and what may be, within, without and outside of my existence. I am afraid, does this make me human? 

If so I guess I might not be an existence without purpose. I guess I might be a human in the end, scared, alone and afraid of what is there, what isn't and what I am losing out on.

I just want happiness. And as such I must be human.

I am human and I'm afraid, as such please help me for I will struggle till then. I am weak, as I am human.

But this does not allow me to blame my humanity for my problems, it is my will and unwillingness to go out of my comfort which causes me such anguish and pain in the end.

As such I am my own enemy, I who is without name is my own enemy. 

Much like he who lives in the high house, the man in the high house.

He lives in his mighty house until the end, never knowing the limits in which he can reach.

He never knows the mountains he can climb nor the love in which he can entrust his heart to.

Yet he stays in his house until he perishes, what is left of him then.

Alone with nobody there for him, the house is all anyone will care for, they will all come for it.

Like ants to sugar, worker ants not caring that in the space if no time at all another just like them was where they were.

His existence ending, just like their will, only difference being what?

That he unlike them will not be remembered for his name, he will only be remembered as what he in the end turned out to be.

The man in the high house.

(This one was written when I alot had happened around me, many deaths and going to therapy so I was more or less having an existential crisis while thinking about death, suicide and what reasons life has to live.

Anyway, I fixed it up a bit, made it more readable)