Mr. Bean's Existential Crisis

I am the same through each day, like a wisdom-less infant, I wander this world with bliss, waltzing through its cruelty and amorality like the wisps of a dandelion. My comedy is others tragedy, and my tragedy is their comedy. I don’t exactly understand what makes something right or wrong in the context of other people, I just have to make a good guess… I’m usually wrong. As I rest with my teddy and gaze into that cold indifferent ceiling, I often wonder how life is for others. How it is to simply walk into a supermarket, grab the things you need, and leave, without the need to discover much. While I meditate on those things, a reminder shoots back into my head: the fact that I cannot change, no matter how hard I try. I can’t force myself to think, speak, or act a certain way. I’m just a bean, a foolish bean. Then I think to myself: “Why am I imprisoned in this folly? Why must I be the village’s personal idiot, with no relief?”. I guess we all serve a purpose under our Gods, but I don’t know what mine is, or what it would want with me. I’m the only one who knows myself, so that is why I can only serve myself well, but that must go against some law out there. I abide by no ones desire.

[@aburninglandfillofbadmovie2930]

All humans are Mister Bean, about that which matters most we know little, about that which matters not at all we know much, never knowing what the other is thinking we grope blindly on towards goals we seldom understand and the question of whether meaning is to be found in the universe or not remains unanswered because we lack the wit to give any answer.

[@ultrex_3200]

0:08