A boy is typing on a square, glowing device; under his bed, he furiously types in a set of words in his drunk and drowsy stupor.
He lives in a structure called a house, with his mom. In this structure, he wastes his time, dreams, and potential.
This wasted, or about to be wasted at the least, boy is quite a cynic and hypocrite.
He observes and critiques things, events, people, places, and other objects fully equipped with the knowledge that most of these "things" he judges are worth far than he is, that is of course if he only takes into account other people's perspective of him and his worth.
To him, everything he sees, smells, feels, tastes, hears, and other present senses are less than a hair of his worth.
Everything is irrelevant, and simply is worth nothing, without him; yet he contradicts himself thinking that he will be nothing if everything, other than him, ceases to exist: What is the point in "living?"
Before he answered that, he asked himself, "What is Living anyways? What conditions are needed to be classified as 'Living?'"
He thought for a moment, then answered to himself, "To be conscious with the state of thought, to be able to think."
But then, he asked himself again with the question, "So one is in the state of 'living' if one is able to think? Then what about technology? Computers? Aren't they able to think, technically? So they're also living"
He shook his head under the blanket, then said, "If they're advanced enough, advanced as in able to give a reply to specific things, then i'd consider 'them' to be 'living.'"
It is now 5:08 am. I have spent 8 minutes fursiously spamming random bs. I shall stop... for now... DUN DUN DUN.