So what else? There are beautiful things that cannot be analyzed and dismembered. A flower is too beautiful only because it uses beautiful genitals to attract bees to reproduce, and leaves fall because it reduces the volatilization of water. winter.
And religion, our last refuge and place of redemption, countless people with tears on their faces, open arms, and the confident smile after the storm, was so easily collapsed by the darkness.
Do you really believe it, or do you just have to believe it.
You just have to live, just fear death, old age, grief, fear of blooming fresh flesh dying in the dirt full of maggots.
You put on a mask, hide in a moment of eternity, escape everything, deceive others and deceive yourself that we are eternity now.
You mercifully stopped a professor who committed suicide, only to knelt in the dark and muttered to him after he left. When you need him most, he doesn't say a word like a coward.
Does religion really work, if you face yourself, damage yourself, and look back at yourself.
Admit it, you're just cheating, like those NERDs masturbating at home and orgasm and telling people with all their sincerity that I don't need a woman.
So, open the door, open the snail shell with seven or eight locks to make it feel a little more secure, and go out to have a look. Stop pretending that you have something to rely on and support.
In addition to death, old age, sickness and death, in addition to pushing boulders up the mountain in pursuit and boredom, in addition to indulging in the moment of phenomenon, in addition to meaninglessness, in addition to death, fear, reincarnation, boredom, in addition to short-term, in addition to hurry, in addition to living in addition to passing, or It's boring, no joy, no sadness, everything is monotonous like a fried sanitary napkin with no seasoning, or it is an ups and downs and emptiness, like an upside-down hourglass.
Your life is fucking meaningless.
So if you want to die, then die.
You are going to die, as long as you think about everything, like Jones, death is your freedom, but before I die, I also have to lock you in the house, have a good chat with you, listen to your farts , and then I think you are really TMD awesome. OK, that's done, please die, and I'll take you on your way.
As for me.
Of course I won't kill myself, I'm afraid of death. I am afraid. I love sex, food, women, the genitals of flowers, the flow of air pressure at different latitudes, the altitude changes of dihydrogen monoxide brought on by the gravity of the moon. I love these BULLSHITs.
So these rubbish stagnation, I like it very much. You want to die, I want to live.
No matter how logically it proves that my petty idiot is meaningless, like an ant, I can't keep up with the care of your grand perspective world.
When I had sex last night, I was so cool.
When I ate at noon yesterday, the braised pork was very fragrant.
The black fungus-like flower on the road today is really unique.
When you want to die, I don't have to use logic to prove that your death is wrong, just like when I want to live, you must use logic to prove that living is a shameless thing.
It is desire that guides logic, not the other way around.
While all the books I've read reveal a kind of hypocrisy, a kind of hypocrisy, a kind of hypocrisy that justifies the goodness of living righteously, very few books of Satan like yours really get published.
But so what.
We all still want to live, no matter if you say it's a low life or a humble life. In every moment when the skin-to-skin experience comes to the fore. I know my options.
Maybe I can rationalize my experience and logic, maybe I can't, but what is logic, if the world is already full of peels and flies, then logic is just a little cockroach crawling on it.
I understand your world, and you may understand mine, and for that, I continue to live, whether it's the choice of the red pill for juicy steaks or the dignity of being a human being (it's just my own mental obsession) After choosing the blue pill, countless experiences, countless moments, and countless moments are my meaning.
Of course, just my meaning, not yours.
The train is coming, let me accompany you to the platform.
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