I love you. We are all destitute of the soul. The painful memories within us from which we ran so far. But not in fear but pride did we run for we do not wish to bring melancholy upon ourselves and hence upon others. Fear is but a natural trait possessed by all. This intrinsic feature is willfully and easily subdued each waking moment for it is a weak one. The art in which are minds are clear and we see our selves is not well defined but does exist namelessly. It exists namelessly because much elucidation on the subject is necessary to aptly name it. However, we do not actually “see” ourselves, but perceive what in essence is our “self-showing,” meaning that we can perceive ourselves objectively as the pure entities that our souls want to present themselves as and not as some object formed by misguided preconceptions. In the end all go to the same place. We die and meet the inevitable emptiness shrouded upon us. Yes, there may be an afterlife, but it is filled solely with blackness and loneliness, nothing like the pearly gates or raging inferno exists. Love has withered and past. Now all that is left is unpleasant yet unfathomable. The world is just a series of random events all dictated simply by chance, and if it were started over once again it would be totally different. We wouldn’t exist. The human mind is a great tool for both good and evil; unfortunately its extreme delicacy renders horrid results to those who have the misfortune of eccentricity. The world is but a ball of earth in an expanse of abject emptiness. There are worse things than death, such as the anxiety caused while waiting for it. You shouldn’t worry. It’s bad for you. Those who worry do not realize that their best is good enough. Well, their best may not be “good enough” but it is all that they can give, and nothing can change that. Poor and pathetic, we are the indigent of the soul. All the world’s problems can be solved by one thing: the extermination of man. Unfortunately, it is impossible to destroy the illustrious race without exterminating many others as well. Woman is the lifeblood of many species for without them there would be no progeny. “Frailty thy name is woman,” said a profoundly wise man. Emotion is the domain in which the female excels. Effeminacy is regarded as weakness because women are perceived as weak, which is undoubtedly true. However, I do not see why weakness would be regarded as unfavorable. One day a voice said to me, “Go out and spread my word.” I was informed that the voice was god in a feeble attempt to amplify his reach. I found that the word I spread was peculiar in that it coincided with my own, and on that day I realized that I had spoken to myself. I realized that, in fact, I was god. Reality is simply an illusion created by our minds to allay our restless souls; if we grasp that concept then to change it would prove to be rather simple. She does not love me. You cannot expect others to be willing to help because, simply put, most people are degenerate slobs who care for no one other than themselves. Most are what they consider “bad,” I am no exception. Most think of themselves as “good,” but I, however, don’t think of myself. Sharp pains in my side, the abdomen. Insanity looms over the head of every man, both great and pathetic. The duty of women is to obey and procreate. The duty of men is to procreate and die. The only sure thing in life is death; taxes can be evaded. That was not meant to be funny. All living things die. It is no use postponing the inevitable. A strange event transpired recently. The greatest asset is also the greatest liability. I am a worthless member of society. It’s not that I don’t wish to conform, it’s that I cannot. Everything went well until a group decided that a social contract was a good thing. As dysphoria ends the dystopia is entered once again.