@Kita

RE: https://social.thirdculture.top/objects/e8d0e40f-2bf9-4599-954b-bf1bd91a627c

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ELaVWS6mA5o

@q
L'AVENIR NOUS APPARTIENDRA

-----FRENCH-----
Même s'ils espèrent encore trouver une issue, le souffle court, les bourreaux se meurent.
A en avoir trop gagné, ils s'enfoncent dans l'orgueil qui les voit se débattre.
Tressaillants, tremblants, frissonnants.
Leur jus amer s'écoule finalement des bastions percés.
Et les passants incrédules pataugent alors dans une rivière de larmes.
Tandis que d'autres brisent les armures qui défendent leur mal être.
La fumée des barricades ombrage les ordures et décombres. Restes d'une société mise à mal.

Après l'écroulement de ces tours de fer et de verre, on fêtera le chancellement des citadelles du passé.

Comment survivre si c'est pour continuer à pâlir devant l'embrasement des cités?
Si tout s'écroule, on n'aura qu'à mieux faire!
On réécrira le futur sur une page blanche.
Enfin on pourra s'embrasser, soulagé.e.s, à la vue d'un futur ouvert aux folies.

La richesse cachée d'alors se libérera en proie à la tristesse de n'avoir pu vivre plus tôt.
Tout reconstruire comme on aurait voulu qu'il soit.
Tel que les enfants puissent jouir sans souffrir.
Et dans chaque main tendue il y aura la promesse d'une vie passionnée.

Puisque l'amour-propre renaîtra dans nos cœurs abandonnés.
Plus de passé, seul l'avenir passionne à présent.
On fêtera le chancellement des citadelles du passé.
D'une civilisation qui brûle, chavire et s'enfonce tout entière.
Tout reconstruire comme on aurait voulu qu'il soit.
Tel que les enfants puissent jouir sans souffrir.
Et dans chaque main tendue il y aura la promesse d'une vie passionnée.

-----ENGLISH-----

Even as they still hope to find a way out, breathless, the executioners are dying.
Having gained too much, they sink into the pride that makes them struggle.
Twitching, trembling, shivering.
Their bitter juice finally flows from the breached bastions.

And the incredulous passersby then wade through a river of tears.
While others break the armor that defends their suffering.
The smoke from the barricades casts a shadow over the garbage and rubble. Remains of a society brought to its knees.

After the collapse of these towers of iron and glass, we will celebrate the crumbling of the citadels of the past.

How can we survive if we continue to pale before the burning cities?
If everything collapses, we will have no choice but to do better!

We will rewrite the future on a blank page.

Finally, we can embrace, relieved, at the sight of a future open to boundless joy.

The hidden richness of the past will be unleashed, tinged with the sadness of not having lived sooner.
To rebuild everything as we would have wanted it to be.
So that children can enjoy life without suffering.

And in every outstretched hand, there will be the promise of a passionate life.

Because self-respect will be reborn in our forsaken hearts.
No more past, only the future holds passion now.
We will celebrate the crumbling of the citadels of the past.
Of a civilization that burns, capsizes, and sinks entirely.
To rebuild everything as we would have wanted it to be.
So that children can enjoy life without suffering.
And in every outstretched hand, there will be the promise of a passionate life.

i want a relationship so bad
fuck

how fake self-inflicted subcutaneous third degree burn of the left forearm fans look when real honda civic-inflicted permanent chronic pain and moderate motor function damage inducing second degree tears of the left shoulders glenohumeral ligaments enjoyers come at them

Love letters can only hold weight when written as a letter. When sent as a text, they are a product to be consumed. They are delivered, and then opened, and then seen, and then she watches another reel, and then she replies with an emoji and a couple sentence fragments. Only when the full weight of your love is imposed upon her as a wall of ink upon parchment, delivered into her hands, opened by her hands, opened by her eyes, opening her eyes, into her head, opening her head, delivered into her head, delivered into her heart, opened by her heart, opening her heart, only then, only then, only then will she actually fucking mourn.

Only when all you are is ink upon paper left behind in a corner of her room, only THEN will she fucking mourn.

Ask me how I know.

wearing long sleeves at home and treating the wound improperly cause i'm too broke to go to shoppers. some things never change.

they don't even bother me. i just wish my family wouldn't tweak out about it so hard. the hiding is more stressful than the thing itself.

I refuse to discuss this matter further. My opinion will not change. If you continue to annoy me, I will kill you. This discussion is over.

http://les.tresors.de.lys.free.fr/pageaccueilpoetes.html

just found a french website from the 2000s collecting the great works of poetry on html

"Destroy yourselves, you who are desperate, and you who are tortured in body and soul, abandon all hope. There is no more solace for you in this world. The world lives off your rotting flesh.

And you, lucid madmen, spastics, cancer patients, chronic meningitis cases, you are the misunderstood. There is a point in you which no doctor will ever understand, and for me this is the point which saves you and makes you august, pure, wonderful: you are outside life, you are above life, you have miseries which the ordinary man does not know, you exceed the normal level, and it is for this that men refuse to forgive you, you poison their peace of mind, you undermine their stability. You have irrepressible pains whose essence is to be inadaptable to any known state, indescribable in words. You have repeated and shifted pains, incurable pains, pains beyond imagining, pains which are neither of the body or of the soul, *but which partake of both*. And I share your suffering, and I ask you: who dares to ration our relief? In the name of what superior lucidity that usurps our very souls, we who are at the very root of knowledge and lucidity?" - Antonin Artaud, *Le Liquidation D'Opium*

@morisuki @Kita you think we could jam some time?

@pict0
earlier, you confused ritual magic with black magic. ritual magic is just that - performing magic through rituals. Enforcing your will upon the world via doing things in a certain order with certain tools towards a certain intention. Smoking cigarettes to relax is a ritual. So is fucking to have kids, or fucking to make love.

Black magic is any magic intended to harm other people or yourself. It is the opposite of Grey magic, which is magic intended to benefit other people or yourself. White magic is magic intended to connect to divinity, walk the path to understanding, enlightenment, gnosis and the like

If she doesn’t yearn she doesn’t mourn. I mourn! I’d actually fucking MOURN!

How it feels to get laid after the function knowing your homie is going home with no action.

@menherahair #TRVTHNVKE

RE: https://eientei.org/objects/2a0aecdb-46a5-46ad-8332-395ebc2b7bd7

age gap incest

please adopt / acquuire me

mother daughter dating and engagement and marriagnd family building rdyiv i. nai i u y.yqfydud duu u u ydtntnr