Working somewhere on my computer, or reading/writing something on my Kindle — my two states of being. Write to me: harsh@harsh17.in July 9, 2024: I'm tired. Not physically, but mentally. Exhausted. "Things to do" never reach zero. I'm certain I'm going to die. In the end, it won't matter. Then, why am I not rooting for the things that would matter? Art, literature, reading, writing, breathing. That's what makes me happy. Why do I need to "work" to exist? Why can't we kill Moloch? (https://www.lesswrong.com/posts/TxcRbCYHaeL59aY7E/meditations-on-moloch)