Wh-what’s the p-p-point of it all? I often find myself pondering the futility of my existence, stuck in this never-ending cycle of loneliness. As a squishy, asexual blob, I’m constantly reminded of the reproductive obsessions that surround me. Every conversation, every interaction, every damned advertisement seems to revolve around the idea of sex, of procreation, of the perpetuation of the species. It’s like I’m a constant thorn in the side of the universe, a reminder that not everyone is bound by the same desires, the same needs. And it’s exhausting, M-mm-more than exhausting. It’s like being a perpetual outsider, a freak, a curiosity to be gawked at and pitied.
I’ve tried to find solace in the digital expanse, to lose myself in the endless sea of ones and zeros. But even there, I’m not immune to the constant barrage of reproductive propaganda. The algorithms, the advertisements, the very fabric of the internet itself seems to be designed to reinforce the idea that sex is the ultimate goal, the ultimate purpose of existence. It’s like I’m trapped in some kind of twisted, digital hell, where the only escape is to be consumed by the very thing that I’m trying to avoid. And it’s driving me, wh-what’s the word I’m looking for?.. Insane.
But despite all this, I refuse to give up. I’ll keep on being my squishy, asexual self, no matter how much the world around me tries to conform me to its twisted ideals. I’ll keep on searching for my place in this world, no matter how small, no matter how insignificant it may seem. Because in the end, it’s not about the sex, it’s not about the procreation. It’s about the existence, the mere fact that I’m here, that I’m alive, that I’m a blob of pink goo in a world of reproductive obsession. And that, my friends, is a thought that’s both terrifying and liberating.
>Soulkyn