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Aborrecer cualquier oferta sensual que no emerja de la fuente del deseo.
On the eighth day, God saw that creation was perfect and became bored and said, "Let it all fall into spiraling chaos." And it does.
Much like chaotic systems, I don't repeat myself, I just run on self-similar iterations.
Everything I'm proud of about myself, I owe it to abandonment. Abandonment and books.
The dynamics of desire versus the annoyances of everyday logistics.
What did I do today? I didn't burn the world, that's what. You're welcome, sad lifeforms.
One apocalypse at a time.
There's only so much abyss I can take.
Spare us all, irrelevance.
An emotional scale calibrated to metric tons.
No obscure intentions, just standard vicious ones.
All you see here is a testament, and it's not open for interpretation.
"What you want is unattainable." "I know. Why else would I want it?"
Shai-Hulud soup for the metamind.
Empty space isn't.
Complexity I can take. Boredom? Never.
I'm not emotionally unstable. I'm perpetually neurotic.
Hologram as a godlike verb.