2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43
Dark.
There is so much light in the dark that its density transforms form and essence. Dark. Her touch brings me into a state of pulsating sun, black sun. Ripple on the verge of explosion, incessant, woven of evil in its purest form, capable of generating happiness. It is impossible to understand this state, darkness simply comes to you and takes what it wants, it does not wait for a convenient moment, I live only by chance, for a second, two, and then again absorption. My little world of pain and suffering, my tiny existential labor camp, my last refuge on the road to eternity, burns with my powerlessness.
She is everywhere and you cannot hide from her in your invented world of fantasies and incessant neurosis. I do not even realize that all this time I am in her power, I do not even have a fantasy that I am free, my slavery is absolute. The entire sum of the collective unconscious, all archetypes, everything is saturated with struggle and the desire to be someone or something, but just not to find freedom from darkness, dissolving it in yourself, and not to resist your dissolution in it. Do not wait, do not ask, do not tolerate, everything is in it, but you are not there, you are receiving and giving, there is a grandiose horror-absorbing expression of universal non-existence.
I feel her everywhere and always, she is the background of everything that is in the background, she is intangible, I am so afraid of her that I cannot raise my eyes to the sky, because even at noon I will be blinded by her magnificent hot kiss of death. Darkness moves in me and I follow it, this dark foremother of being, carrying a deadly life, personifies me with a radiant smile of meaninglessness. When else can I describe her so rosy? Probably never like now.
It's so naive and scary to run from her standing still, I understand that there is nowhere to run, but scary and I run, to work and to another continent, to another faith and other dogmas, to rules and slogans, to a country that has not yet been invented, in the story that I will rewrite, I run, and the world stands still, all in darkness. He hung on an invisible thread and the great puppeteers tug at it, but I am tired and scared, I am tired of being terrified, I want to be freed from this fate and I jump into the darkness with all my might. And hitting the concrete floor painfully Next to me are my brothers in darkness, they help me rise even lower, they press on my head urging me to be strong and successful in the fight. How did you all screw me up.
The darkness itself decides who, how and when.
The chasm does not become smaller from the fact that I run.
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