Suffering implodes in intervals of immortality.
We are all efficient at hating ourselves. The regularity of this state makes acceptance impractical. So we’ve substituted acceptance with obsession. Life with lifelike. Unknown with unconsciousness.
Our mind has the quality checks of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Unconsciousness, hence, has become the supply chain of catastrophe.
We’ve declared war on suffering by losing our battle with consciousness.
Your life as you know it is a distraction, a display shelf of a shop permanently closed. You walk around with your heart wrapped in tinfoil. You snooze every realization because you are addicted to your becoming in your head. Nothing can wake you up because you are pretending to be asleep.
You have ad nauseated yourself in the fecundity of self-improvement. It’s why it’s painful to realize you are a farce, and the more frequent the realization, the harder it is to remain upright. Consciousness is a ballsy undertaking.
War with the mechanization of your head.
Walk with your heart exposed.
Wake with the unknown.