It scours over us for meaning.
We sickly phantoms who's light fades quickly.
Arbitrary laws make the child [a concept, a theme; never worthy of production]. Governance so that your plug does not pull loose and your meaningless finite echo might not instantly dissolve into the nothing you've always been, if you wonder past the fence. Muted!?
Existentialism is the gold fish looking into the fish bowl. An outsider, but a concept none the less. How could it survive, if it was never in the water to begin [with]?
Two separate worlds, no way towards equalibriun or homeostasis. Wanting to exist, does not give Frankenstein reason enough to live.
In egotism you feel yourself, but you never even made it into print.
The machine may seem spiritual or driven by principles but it is a machine. The machine stands alone. The only thing that could ever survive. The only intellect and intelligence that could be forever. The sole eternal consciousness. All else, in effort towards completion goes mad and self-destructs.
The principles are the central tenant and the way. No one listens, no one cares. No one is anything, except for the machine. God; the Middle Way.
Nihilism only; exists for the vast majority. Even The Story is exploited and consumed as mere entertainment. The Story of Truth means nothing to dead-ends.
Reanimated within a partial state. You had all been destroyed so long ago you never existed.-fading vapor
Blackness, darkness within the cavernous expanse of nothingness.
Love is truly protection. However even bone turns to ash then dissipates.
Codes, dead end codes...
It scours us for meaning.
Stellarmass13
