I wish I was dead.
No, I take that back, not in the least because it’s sounds depressing and I’m not the least bit depressed right now.
I wish I was a moment away from death.
Now, the explanation. It gets a bit convuluted, so feel free to skip this paragraph and go down to the next one. Time is a line, and the present is really just a point of perspective on that line where you or I can look back. What we can see is the past, what we cannot, that’s the future. But all of the points on the line already exist. (I’m not arguing for any sort of predestination or fate here, I’m just saying that we will do what we will do because from an outsider’s perspective we’ve already done it.) Each point on the line is infinitely small because with each proverbial tick of the clock that goes by, we move forward and our present self dies while we give birth to a new one. The moments always exist, there’s just a consciousness that flows in and then immediately out of them.
The rest of what I have to say is just as “shallow and pedantic” as that, but hush. I don’t want to your criticism Mr. I’m-probably-not-reading-this-anyway.
I want to be my future self a moment away from death and I want to be him forever, because he’s the me that has the best perspective. He’s the me that is as close to omniscience as I’ll ever be, able to look back at everything that has gone before.
My current self hates him because the needs of the present are at odds with the needs of the future. I want to spend my money now, but to do so means I won’t be able to later. I want to eat fatty foods, lay around, and jerk off. (I’d like to get laid, too, but let’s try to stay in the realm of reasonable possibilities for the time being.) But my present and future self hates my past self for wasting its time, instead of suffering and being productive. I want to reap the rewards of my past’s sacrifices, and at the same time I want to give nothing to my future self.
But regardless of what I do in life, I will become him. The me that is myself will stay where I am, but the me that is my consciousness will continue on, and being the religious fellow that I am, it will continue on past the death of myself and even time. He’s not the end, but he’s the end of the me that resembles me to a reasonable facsimile.
I really need to get more sleep, because this is all coming out like I wrote it while smoking a joint, and I swear I didn’t.