“Acknowledging death makes life and its moments more precious.”
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“Multiple forces / drives / personalities are in us. They need to be incorporated, made to live in congruence. Otherwise, pathologies emerge.”
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“Underneath the anger you will often find sadness.”
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“Play. Do not ever forget to play.”
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None of this makes sense. It seems infinity is in both space and time. Where are you in that infinity? What are you? How can something exist? How can nothing exist? How can I perceive things? How can I feel things? It is all just absolutely absurd, beyond any comprehension. Answers do not exist. We are not discovering the truth (we just cannot), we are manufacturing it, to ease this dread caused by awareness.
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“The price of indulging in fantasies is heavy. Unfulfillment of it leads to great distress. What is the solution? Always expect the worst?”
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“The drive to destroy is in all of us deeply. Think about governments going to war with each other. Or a young man seducing a miserable middle-aged housewife. That government, that man, enjoys the power of destruction.”
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“Emotions are fleeting. Remember that before enacting self-destructive behavior.”
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“Think of biggest problems you have. Now, think about how your life would look like if you did not have them.”
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And I am sitting
at this exact place in the bar,
writing this,
where we sat down
together
2 days ago.

We did not fuck.
Yet again.

The first time we tried to fuck (was exactly 3 months ago, on March 7th, just realized it),
was preceded by hours of talking,
lots of beer,
lots of white expensive wine that you had,
and lots of cocaine.

After I ate your pussy for a while,
you went on to suck
my dick.

It did not work.

Not only did it not work,
it had fucking shrunk.

Fucking cocaine.

After that
I really wanted to see you again.
Badly.
Like really badly.
To prove I am a man.
I am not a little boy.

Oh,
but you were married,
and continuously away.

You got divorced,
one month after meeting me.

10 years of marriage.
I want to believe it was
because of me.

That's how fucked up
I am.

Well,
we finally met,
twice,
after the accident.

Two days ago was the last time,
exactly here,
in this bar,
at this table,
where these words are
being written now.

I hear young girls' voices.
I do not look.
I do not care.

Come on.
I just pretend.
I do care.
I want them all to
suck my dick.

Will I meet you again?

I sent you pictures of my penis.
I fucked other girls in the meantime.
Still,
salvation is yet to come.
Will it come?
Your pussy is my priest.
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