𓇬 Arsonist’s Berceuse.

hyhkh 🙂🌷🙂🌷

Search your being and overshadow your anguish. Man is a free and willing being, rationality allows him to act in a good way but is stained by sin and temptation, he has the greed to dominate the world through understanding even when he feels lost. By not reaching this state of maximum pleasure where we are satisfied by the path we have traveled, we seek to escape from that emptiness in the interior that does not know the direction, although fleeing the anguish that the wrong thought brings and being the anguish cannot be exactly Likewise, if I am my anguish to escape it, this supposes that I can de-center myself with respect to what I am, that I can be anguish in the form of "it would not be", that I can have a desired power disabled in the heart of the anguish itself. The denial becomes a link of the essential being, since of the beings on which it falls it is such that it points towards the other, that it carries the other in its brain as an absence. So much so that it is in question in its being it is like not being that being. Here it is necessary to get rid of an illusion that could be formulated in this way, in order to constitute oneself as not being this or that being; in any case, a knowledge of that being, because you cannot judge about the differences with respect to someone of whom you know nothing. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

jangann di unsubs dong :]

⠀My art is defined by a pair of brown eyes, brown hair, perhaps darker, and pale cheeks. It is defined by your naked figure and even when it is covered you are still art. A concept under your name, under your signature and your image, because you are art that is not seen at first glance, that needs dedication, analysis. That art that goes unnoticed on rainy nights when you hide between woolen sheets under soft puppets. You are art when you smile, when you look at me with those bright eyes that seem to move the world, my world. You are art when you love me, when you bring me close to your chest, when your brow furrows in confusion. You are art when you exist and in the art of loving you, I consider myself an expert. ⠀Your eyes are like the blue of the ocean, I was so swayed while wandering in your heart. Your eyes seem to give off my obsidian¹ aura, it feels like I'm in your heartbeat so I can't take my world. I was so naive when your blue eyes ignored me, then I disappeared. I admit that I saw your voice like I was experiencing déjà vu². When we travel to the sea I feel that the blue sea is your eyes, we air together. Then like the two of us, we pass the time at sunset. And I always have the pinnacle of eternal beauty in you. If you are a spinning dove, I am ready to fly with you, we get into the boat and hold hands. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

♟: ₊ I. Serenity ❞ Fear no more the heat o' the sun? From 'Cymbeline', Act IV. Scene 2 ›˙ 𒀭. ⋆ ⠀'⠀⠀✦⠀⠀˖࣪⠀ ⠀ ִֶָ ⠀⋄⠀ ⠀ ˓ ㅤ ㅤ FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, ㅤ ㅤ Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages; Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. ㅤ ㅤ Fear no more the frown o' the great, ㅤ ㅤ Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; ㅤ ㅤ To thee the reed is as the oak: The ㅤ ㅤ sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow ㅤ ㅤ this, and come to dust. ㅤ ㅤ Fear no more the lightning-flash, ㅤ ㅤ Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. ㅤ ㅤ No exorciser harm thee! ㅤ ㅤ Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Nothing ill come near thee! Quiet consummation have; And renowned be thy grave! ˚₊· ➴ 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐮𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞. 𝐎𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐢𝐚! 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬' 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤. 𝕺 Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,Nature's observatory-whence the dell, Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell. But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee, Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind, Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd, Is my soul's pleasure, and it sure must be Almost the highest bliss of human-kind, When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee. 𝕺 true apothecary, hear my pleas! These four and twenty hours I must stay, with naught to do to render me at ease nor anywhere to restlessness allay. Thou couldst convey me onward to some port, that I might fly and leave these woes behind; make haste, for soon I'll helpless be to thwart rebellions of my fingers and my mind! Perhaps thou couldst propel me 'pon a cart t'ward stages where I might perform my shows, ere fitfulness makes all my wits depart and I endure the mut'ny of my toes. -Thy craft is why I've here awaited thee, good pharmacist: I want t’sedated be. The Ramones, "I Wanna Be Sedated"

«𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐋𝐄𝐓'𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐐𝐔𝐘. 𝐓𝐨 𝐛𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 '𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞, 𝐎𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐀𝐧𝐝, 𝐛𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐓𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐞 - 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩; 𝐍𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞; 𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭-𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐭𝐨, - 𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝.» ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ┈┈┈┈┈ ♚ ┈┈┈┈┈ A life full of mortality and grandiose trials and various kinds of life burdensome. Every living thing will surely die, sooner or later time will keep running. The realization that everyone who passes by has a vivid and complex life as compulsive. Life is like a rope that is broken without realizing it. Starting with abominations and based on hypocrisy, people always stick to their wishes, do whatever they want and disobey orders. When despair comes to humans, sometimes humans think it is the end of themselves but subconsciously they succumb to incompetence. It has a fossil skeleton that did not adapt to drastic changes from the wind, but was punished for a dark future. It is installed in a strange way, even with a redeemable chest, the most sublime concept is embodied. On this occasion, it was talent more than mediocrity, overflowing imagination in the face of dominance and promptness putting a face to the untold passage of time. As you get older, the greater his proximity to a classical ineptitude and a moral dismemberment; It begins to ignore its own nafs with the violent contrast that caresses the winds of the waves that tell us the times when everything starts to lose itself, or at best, to be consumed with the most inaccurate truths. ❈⠀𖧡 𖧡 There are stages of decadence, ignorance. Nostalgia rooted in recent years where experiences seem so far away and laughter is cornered in the softest chest that is part of childhood, like the most beautiful nostalgia that youth leaves behind. And it arrived, without color, without hatred, uniting all space and time. Intuition and wishful thinking don't feel heavy, the feeling of letting go is greater as his fingers relax and his eyes stop all movement. No motives, no spills or dumps. Many claim that after death there is a world without evil that welcomes well-behaved souls, or that they continue to be energized. Humans don't know if there's a realm where they join or if there's a direct space for those destined for whatever has given us life, even so, I don't think there's a fair classification. And when death begins to calm us down (even though it is perceived as helplessness for our loved ones) it is a cycle that allows us to rest after spending our lives on pilgrimage. Life is a promising phenomenon and a disappointment.