Sick

Call me a sick person... but I just love the way a sad girl looks.

Illusion of God.

"You cannot kill a breeze, a wind, a fragrance, you cannot kill a dream or an ambition. God, manufactured by mortals in their own quintessential image, exists only to make daily life bearable despite the path that every one of us treads toward extinction. As long as men are obliged to die, some of them, unable to endure the prospect, will concoct fond illusions. We cannot assassinate or kill an illusion. In fact, illusion is more likely to kill us — for God puts to death everything that stands up to him, beginning with reason, intelligence, and the critical mind. All the rest follows in a chain reaction."

-Michel Onfray.

Palindromes.

People always end up the way they started out. No one ever changes. They think they do but they don't. If you're the depressed type now that's the way you'll always be. If you're the mindless happy type now, that's the way you'll be when you grow up. You might lose some weight, your face may clear up, get a body tan, breast enlargement, a sex change, it makes no difference. Essentially, from in front, from behind. Whether you're 13 or 50, you will always be the same.

Flirting with Death (it's such a turn on)

Caer.

Caer en un abismo oscuro e infinito, no llegar nunca al fondo, sólo caer, caer, caer, caer infinitamente, caer para siempre. No conocer la sensación de finalmente haber aterrizado, concretado algo. Así es una vida sin sentido. ¿No te preguntas a veces qué mierdas estás haciendo aquí? ¿A dónde va todo esto? Yo veo todo en retrospectiva y pierde sentido. Es difícil no sentirse absurdo cuando te das cuenta de que todos tus días son iguales y no van a ningún lado, y que realmente no esperas que vayan a ningún lado.

Finalmente me siento de 50 años, y con pleno convencimiento de que mi vida va a ser así de aquí a que me muera, como una rutina interminable y sofocante. No es aburrimiento aunque pareciera, es una especie de resignación a lo absurdo de la vida misma. Juntar cosas, vivir, relacionarte, todo para nada. El día que llegas al fondo del abismo finalmente te estampas contra él cargando el peso de toda tu vida. Entre más vida, más fuerte el golpe, y son más los pedazos en los que quedas dividido.

Si no fuera por esa insaciable curiosidad mía de ver qué sigue, tal vez ya me habría colgado.

I (yes, it's about me) am so damn tired. Tired of all the overcrowded cunts,
the overcrowded faggots who roam in jubilant advantage, stain every place on this now desecrated earth.
However I ponder, however I try to find some degree of truth
or understanding of this I am still wondering - hating.
When I look around the hate burns me, the hate that has glowed within me since the beginning,
that in recent years has gotten new swamp air that gives further strength to the glow.
For every second that I hate, my self-preservation gradually dies.
I am annoyed by the thought why these trite, life-affirming anti-beings actually survive.
They should not live.
On second thought neither I, them nor you have a fair reason to continue living.
When I've woken up quickly from a dream it is sometimes as if I have been punished to dwell on our imbecile Earth;
Monstrosity Tellus from the universe of emptiness, and have been entirely emotionless and unmoved in front of it.
Why was I born?! Who gave birth to me?! Was I born to gain the insight I now have?!
Slow annihilation - stable, vague, painful. The world's destruction would not sound louder than a needle falling to the floor.
Humanity is ludicrous, inferior, smothered and washed over with vomit, excrement and infertile seed
The one thing I contribute is my thoughts, you're welcome!
You are nothing, your life has been lived billions, billions of times and as unnoticeably you have faded from time.