LavĂnia
plalace
- Feb 19, 2024
- 161
I have a problem. The way these things work, the beats, the jade bamboo grove in disdain. Things don't end. They change, they distort. We lose friendships, narratives make a cycle, but we can see these people again, we can talk to them again. With each step we take accepting an end, a natural and obvious conclusion, there is the surprise of continuity. Your achievements, however beautiful they may be, can still change. Your misery, however dirty it may be, can change. Things don't stop, they don't end. Not even in death.
I'm accepting this, it was a big problem. It doesn't matter. When you abandon the sense of narrative, the idea of the best choice (don't say anything else Kierkegaard) what we have is this. See the fluctuations of martyrdoms kissing the tables symphonies of a love on the corner. I gave up. A plan that doesn't matter, people without values. The only thing that pulls me is anxiety, and the terror of it.
My plan changed again, more stripped down. I need to save 5 thousand, save up some paycheck, and then die. It all depends on how much I don't spend.
I'm accepting this, it was a big problem. It doesn't matter. When you abandon the sense of narrative, the idea of the best choice (don't say anything else Kierkegaard) what we have is this. See the fluctuations of martyrdoms kissing the tables symphonies of a love on the corner. I gave up. A plan that doesn't matter, people without values. The only thing that pulls me is anxiety, and the terror of it.
My plan changed again, more stripped down. I need to save 5 thousand, save up some paycheck, and then die. It all depends on how much I don't spend.
