What makes you feel alive?
A challenge that grinds you to the last moment and then a little more? Perhaps the loosening of the tension after the task, until the next? Or maybe anything voluntarily done, out of pure will. That music at the party that you don't remember what happened but remember how it felt? The loving moments that you wanted to remember all five senses and five billion neurons worth, but you just remember that you wanted to remember?
Have you felt alive?
I've known a person who has been through a lot of fucked up shit. Who's still going through a lot of shit. That person feels dead, detached, then distressed, distressed, destroyed, and then dead, detached, just to feel distressed again. Something psychologically and pathologically moribund. Anything but alive. But yet, but yet, the things that come out of that persons mouth, unto the screen. The pessimistic, the dejected, the utterly hopeless negative thought processes-- those things, I told her,
are dripping with life.
Not out of your desperation, not out of my pity, nothing to do with any intentions or contexts. If you're a breathing human being, you would know that it's squeezing your own identity, gripping, squeezing and dripping your own life.
I said, I don't think I have felt that way before.
She didn't understand.
Mothagesso.
A challenge that grinds you to the last moment and then a little more? Perhaps the loosening of the tension after the task, until the next? Or maybe anything voluntarily done, out of pure will. That music at the party that you don't remember what happened but remember how it felt? The loving moments that you wanted to remember all five senses and five billion neurons worth, but you just remember that you wanted to remember?
Have you felt alive?
I've known a person who has been through a lot of fucked up shit. Who's still going through a lot of shit. That person feels dead, detached, then distressed, distressed, destroyed, and then dead, detached, just to feel distressed again. Something psychologically and pathologically moribund. Anything but alive. But yet, but yet, the things that come out of that persons mouth, unto the screen. The pessimistic, the dejected, the utterly hopeless negative thought processes-- those things, I told her,
are dripping with life.
Not out of your desperation, not out of my pity, nothing to do with any intentions or contexts. If you're a breathing human being, you would know that it's squeezing your own identity, gripping, squeezing and dripping your own life.
I said, I don't think I have felt that way before.
She didn't understand.
Mothagesso.
