fuck pleasure.
everything is doomed.
What a wonderful life we’re living.
Everything is great until it isn’t.
A polished stage of borrowed suns
covers up our triumphs
yet we protect our eyes
we must hide our light
smile at mirrors that
lie back kindly, forcefully
medicating the abyss
with small victories.
We love
We strive
We accumulate proof
We prove
We dance
We manifest
yet every attachment
is a quiet contract with
future grief.
For fucks sake,
we already know the ending.
Pleasure? You mean the mere absence
of noticing we’re falling?
Oh yes, what a wonderful life we’re living.
Everything is doomed until it isn’t.


When everything is doomed, we will rise from the ashes!
When you are nothing. Nothing can manipulate you, yet as nothing knowing nothing you can touch without attachment. You feel?