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In my meditations, I have ascended to the highest realm of truth, where the silent God of all and nothing dwells.
The most supreme law creates all that could be by infinitely dividing the universe.
I am set apart from that which I am not, and that is all I am
A meaningless speck of truth awash in the ocean of existence.
In an act of worship, I have chosen to lay down and rot away, strangling the eager stems of possibility upon their emergence.
In this slow and quiet death, I have finally accepted that I am nothing.
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2. |
My Solipsistic Fortress
11:22
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If given the choice between my solipsistic fortress and that loveless wasteland, I'd choose to be alone.
Here, I can find happiness in the numbing high of sedation, without constantly being reminded that I am worthless.
As long as I can justify my separation, I will remain inert.
The slightest reminder of the animal truth of my existence is enough to
destroy me.
The lingering problem Is that I have run out of opiates, and must somehow obtain them to maintain this blissful numbness. If I am unable to do so, I will be trapped in my fortress, forced to engage in self-flagellation until the day I die.
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3. |
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I'm nurturing a child of my own, despite all the proof that I have failed as a man. Though I'm dripping with disease, this child clings to me. The world averts their eyes. He foams at the mouth, choking out the crudest sounds representing his decaying mental landscape.
Though he may be abhorrent in form, I must give him love in a way that no one dared to love me.
When all is done and I am gone, this child is all that will remain of me.
I let him feed upon my flesh and drink my blood to quench his rabid thirst. I fight back my utter revulsion. Streams of blood mixed with saliva dribble down his chin and soak me. All is right between us.
Born from solitude and sorrow; as he grows, he takes on my form. Worn though solitude and sorrow; as I age, I take on his form. We are one and the same, my parasitic twin.
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