The Bank of Existence and the Usury of Hope

[L'absent]

Hope is the counterfeit currency that man has minted to deceive himself, the usurious loan with which he buys time out of nothing. In the bank of existence, no one has ever withdrawn their deposit, yet every day new fools pour their dreams, their expectations, their prayers into an account that has already decreed their failure. The interest rate is monstrous: the desire for a better future is paid with the agony of waiting, the dream of eternal love is exchanged for the certainty of its decay, the promise of imminent glory clashes with the indifference of history.

Existence is nothing but a perfect economic system, a hellish mechanism where the bank never fails, and the clients are doomed to insolvency. Every man is born with an unpayable debt to time, a promissory note signed in blood, a contract with a single clause: you will pay with your own life. The game is rigged, yet we keep sitting at the table, convinced that the next bet will change the outcome. Fools. The house always wins, because the house is nothingness, and nothingness has never lost.

Every hope is a financial illusion, a speculation on the invisible, a transaction in which the seller never delivers the goods. Hope makes you believe in a tomorrow where everything will be fine, but tomorrow is a thief that always stays one step ahead of you. It is the promise of a truce in the war of existence, yet the war goes on, because the universe has no use for peace.

And what does man do? Knowing that the bank is a scam, that his balance is perpetually negative, that every investment is destined to vanish into the wind—what does he do? He keeps playing. He signs contracts with God, with fate, with time itself, deluding himself that his signature holds any value. But the devil laughs: every soul that hopes is another pawn in his kingdom of illusions. The true nihilist is not the one who renounces hope, but the one who wields it as poison, who plays with the expectations of others like an Apocalypse banker. You must not reject the game—you must rig it. You must not try to win—you must become the house.

In the end, there is no refund, no restitution, no reward. Only the grand final balance: absolute zero. The bank of existence gives nothing back, but the great deception is that it never withdrew anything in the first place. There was never anything to invest. This is the great cosmic joke: man lives indebted to a void that never existed. The Devil smiles. He who hopes is already lost. He who knows, instead, is already the master.

 

[Forever Sleep]

At some points in life, I was well into my hope overdraft. I'm not so sure I have so many hopes or even desires left now. Perhaps for things to get no worse- certainly.

Would we do better without hope though? Our resisdent nihilists don't seem too happy. I don't exactly think lacking ambition or hopes to achieve at something or other helps us much either. There truly must seem no point to life then. Which is fine if you are able to kill yourself but many feel trapped here.

It's probably hope that kept me going for a few decades. It probably would have been better for me if I'd killed myself decades ago but I was in even less of a good position to do it then. I've always wanted to wait for key loved ones to go first and I always wanted a method I felt confident in.

So, hope to achieve some success in a creative career kept me going and, to some extent, I got some reward. I think I always realised my highest hopes were unrealistic. That certainly helps. To be realistic about what you hope to achieve.

So, hope is really just a coping mechanism- as I see it. Without hope, there's no motivation to try to attain things. No effort means we're almost certainly stuck where we are.

I agree though. Maybe the most powerful and peverse in our societies learn to manipulate our hopes for their own benefit.