@q Seems its about accelerationism. Celebrating the crumbling of towers wrought of iron and glass, sadness at having not lived sooner, rebuilding everything as you would want it to be, so that children can enjoy life without suffering. Watering our crops with the blood of tyrants.
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@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.
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.
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Edited 6 days ago
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
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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.
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.
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@Kita
>sex doesn’t touch my soul anymore. I’ve lived and moved on. Some sex in the age of birth control is simply just that. Add the formative years of porn consumption and the sex you believe in is just not there.
Ugh. More doomerish nonsense by kita.
>I’m also not very interested in sex that isn’t in some sense emotionally connected. I literally wouldn’t be able to get hard. But I know and you do too that this is idealism nonsense.
No, this is normal.
>Sure this can be sexually expressed as well but it is really so much more rare and often not the sex I’m having. Even when I am “making love”.
And see, this is the hollowness I speak of. The fact that you can possibly speak of merging your wet flesh with another's in such a distant manner, and worse, be RIGHT, is the result of lichmaking gone horribly wrong. Sex can only be so meaningless if something has gone horribly wrong, and you KNOW it. You call it idealist nonsense, the same way you call love idealist nonsense, and hope idealist nonsense, and life idealist nonsense. You call it that because the idea that that thing IS right and that everything else IS wrong and the idea that there are a million miles to walk until you return to lived experience in touch with reality too much to stomach.
And I will revel in my egocentrism again to say that you can walk those miles and you can touch that reality. I took my fuckery to hell and back, and it is pure again. I giggled when I held his hand. I kicked my feet when he agreed to go out for dumplings. I hit 200 bpm when our bare shoulders touched. It took years.
But, the same way things get worse, things get better too. Something ALWAYS happens.
>sex doesn’t touch my soul anymore. I’ve lived and moved on. Some sex in the age of birth control is simply just that. Add the formative years of porn consumption and the sex you believe in is just not there.
Ugh. More doomerish nonsense by kita.
>I’m also not very interested in sex that isn’t in some sense emotionally connected. I literally wouldn’t be able to get hard. But I know and you do too that this is idealism nonsense.
No, this is normal.
>Sure this can be sexually expressed as well but it is really so much more rare and often not the sex I’m having. Even when I am “making love”.
And see, this is the hollowness I speak of. The fact that you can possibly speak of merging your wet flesh with another's in such a distant manner, and worse, be RIGHT, is the result of lichmaking gone horribly wrong. Sex can only be so meaningless if something has gone horribly wrong, and you KNOW it. You call it idealist nonsense, the same way you call love idealist nonsense, and hope idealist nonsense, and life idealist nonsense. You call it that because the idea that that thing IS right and that everything else IS wrong and the idea that there are a million miles to walk until you return to lived experience in touch with reality too much to stomach.
And I will revel in my egocentrism again to say that you can walk those miles and you can touch that reality. I took my fuckery to hell and back, and it is pure again. I giggled when I held his hand. I kicked my feet when he agreed to go out for dumplings. I hit 200 bpm when our bare shoulders touched. It took years.
But, the same way things get worse, things get better too. Something ALWAYS happens.
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