u/KierkegaardingIt

I am one of the billions dragging himself across the earth's surface. One, and no more.

Maybe it's okay for me to be here.

I feel sick. To imagine every worst possible scenario, to know that I've lived it, am living it. Indisposed. Infirm. Invalid.

To stretch out in a field, to smell the earth and tell yourself it is the end as well as the hope of our dejections, that it would be futile to search for anything better to rest on, to dissolve into.

I can barely stomach the thought of going outside, the mere idea of existing within someone else's perception, the complete and utter loss of control of my image.

Maybe it's okay for me to be here.

I feel sick. To imagine every worst possible scenario, to know that I've lived it, am living it. Indisposed. Infirm. Invalid.

I've decided I'm going to be an accountant.

It feels sensible.

Have you ever faced death? I've been thinking about how it must have felt to be sentenced to die. One month out. One week out. One day out. One minute out. And then you face the basket. I wonder if they used the same basket for executions via guillotine in France, whether you'd look down and see in exact detail one way you might be remembered as you consider the dry blood before you. In Dostoevsky's The Idiot, Lev rants about the cruelty of sentencing one to death and that struck me as quite kind, if not somewhat naïve, 'the positively good and beautiful man' indeed. Definitely a truly and entirely unique reading of the character Prince Myshkin, not at all intended, but it got me thinking. There must exist a significant amount of relief in the sureness of a sentenced death. For every action there exists a reaction, the other side of the coin, the pull to the push of dreadful certainty. To stare down at the basket, maybe even seeing the surety it brings in dried blood, and to know that this is it. No matter what you do, no matter what has happened, it ends here. Or more so it ends in however long it takes the state to kill someone. The certainty is what pushes a man to break, forced to reconcile with his certain mortality. Though I feel in that moment that the relief felt pulled from certainty would be far greater an emotion. For once, for one moment Rota Fortunae stops, stills for your eternity and so does one's mind.

Quite proud of myself for waking early and eating healthy, later I'll even preform a trick, I'll do something productive with my life.

I enjoy Ryo Fukui's Scenery

I don't like that I need glasses. Everything is deteriorating, rotting from the inside out. My head hurts all the time, I swear I can feel it melting out from my ears, nose. It's unpleasant; having a body, and the same time being conscious of it and myself. My throat is also pretty dry, maybe it's just allergies and my brain isn't melting.

Nothing is real, every sensation is false. Here's a pretty vain one

I can barely stomach the thought of going outside, the mere idea of existing within someone else's perception, the complete and utter loss of control of my image.

This is just shit I've pulled from a notepad folder on my phone, I titled it 'Aura Farming,' I hope I can finally Pavlov myself into a worthwhile hobby, I've put an hour long timer on the only social medias that I use, maybe I'll increase my YouTube one by 10 minutes or so, I like DJ Peach Cobbler.

Nothing ever happens but when you look back, everything's changed.

Look Back was good, haven't seen the adaptation.

betcover!!'s most recent album was pretty cool.

I don't really read.