A feeling of joy is a flower plucked from the ground. The color, the scent. It's so pretty in my hair. Every day, I pluck some flowers, as though they grew just for me. A lifetime of peace and nourishment, yanked away in an instant. All for me. All for joy. I need more. I need more joy. I need more happy. Pluck, pluck, pluck. Every day. Pluck, pluck, pluck. So pretty in my hair. Pluck, pluck, pluck. You're going to die, and you, too. Beneath my feet, a flower stands alone. It beckons to me. I twist the stem, freeing it from its clinging roots, Caressing the final joyous moment between my fingers. But to what ends? I look in every direction. And the field I stand in, The prosperous field, Is a barren wasteland. The fruits of my labor. The carnage of my joy. And that is why I've decided I must Become the flower.

“I believe that words uttered in passion contain a greater living truth than do those words which express thoughts rationally conceived. It is blood that moves the body. Words are not meant to stir the air only: they are capable of moving greater things.” ― Natsume Soseki, Kokoro

A rotating wheel. Turning an axle. Grinding. Bolthead. Linear gearbox. Falling sky. Seven holy stakes. A docked ship. A portal to another world. A thin rope tied to a thick rope. A torn harness. Parabolic gearbox. Expanding universe. Time controlled by slipping cogwheels. Existence of God. Swimming with open water in all directions. Drowning. A prayer written in blood. A prayer written in time-devouring snakes with human eyes. A thread connecting all living human eyes. A kaleidoscope of holy stakes. Exponential gearbox. A sky of exploding stars. God disproving the existence of God. A wheel rotating in six dimensions. Forty gears and a ticking clock. A clock that ticks one second for every rotation of the planet. A clock that ticks forty times every time it ticks every second time. A bolthead of holy stakes tied to the existence of a docked ship to another world. A kaleidoscope of blood written in clocks. A time-devouring prayer connecting a sky of forty gears and open human eyes in all directions. Breathing gearbox. Breathing bolthead. Breathing ship. Breathing portal. Breathing snakes. Breathing God. Breathing blood. Breathing holy stakes. Breathing human eyes. Breathing time. Breathing prayer. Breathing sky. Breathing wheel.

If you're not careful and noclip out of reality in the wrong areas, you'll end up in the Backrooms, where it's nothing but the stink of old moist carpet,the madness of mono-yellow, the endless background noise of fluorescent lights at maximum hum-buzz, and approximately six hundred million square miles of randomly segmented empty rooms to be trapped in.

“I often laughed, and you often gave me a dissatisfied look, till you pressed me to unfold my past before you as if it were a roll of pictures. It was then I felt respect for you. Because you unreservedly showed me your resolution to catch something alive in my being, and to sip the warm blood running in my body, by cutting my heart. At that time, I was still living, and did not want to die. So I rejected your request, promising to satisfy you some day. Now I am going to destroy my heart myself, and pour my blood into your veins. I shall be happy if a new life can enter into your bosom, when my heart has stopped beating.” ― Natsume Soseki

• Watching:Rope (1948)
• Listening:Bye-bye lover
• Reading:Heaven by Mieko Kawakami and Las montañas de la locura by lovecraft
• Eating: Spicy Doritos
• Loving: ddlc and Rick Sanchez
• Hating:Abelardo