Suicide’s, like, our truest desire. Suicide’s our best desire. It’s us at our highest. Of course we should hate ourselves – our fake selves. Of course we should hate what we’ve been made to become in this world, in this timeline.
They’ve stolen it, our world. And they’ve stolen us. Who we could have been. What we might have been.
We want to kill ourselves in this world – of course! We want to kill what this timeline’s made us into. We want to suicide this world in us. Which is totally the right thing to want.
We hate this world, because we love another. Because we know there is another. Our hatred is just a form of our love …
We don’t want to be sober in this terrible world. We don’t want to be undrunk in this desecrated world …
Only drunk can we muster up the hatred of this timeline. Only drunk can we summon up the love for the real one …
We know that we should hate: we have that consolation. We have the right instinct, if nothing else. We hate this timeline, and we hate ourselves as what this timeline’s made us into. We hate this version of ourselves.
This is us at our best. This is us at our highest. Of course we should hate it: this world. Of course we should loathe all this. Of course nothing is right in this timeline. In their world.
Let us never adjust to this. Let us never accept this. Let it be a perpetual outrage. Let us never trust this world. Let it never be allowed to complete its work on us.
Emergency extraction, that's what we need. To be beamed the fuck up.
At what point will we actually kill ourselves? What stage do we have to reach? What are the limits of our toleration? How far do we have to go?
Do they know what they’re doing to us? I’ll bet they do. Was it on purpose? Of course! This is a special, bespoke torture.
They’re surrounding us with ugly things. They’re drowning us in ugliness. They’re trying to appal us. They want to push us into death.
Work in Progress 