destroyeralmighty

God is a mechanic, and the universe is his machine. We are all but parts in this machine -- not cogs, no, not something as vital as that. If we are lucky, we are paint flecks on a screw holding in the bracket that helps support one end of a cog. And God, like all mechanics, worries only about maintaining his machine. He does not care for the well-being of flecks of paint, nor screws, nor even cogs. When a small, trivial part breaks, he does not mend, tailor, carefully groom and re-forge it. He simply replaces it. He replaces it so the machine might continue to run, with new parts, with new paint and he discards the old and the broken with nar

When we have glimpsed, by an overwhelming and readily renewable intuition, anyone's own uselessness, it is incomprehensible that everyone has not done the same. To do away with oneself seems such a clear and simple action. Why does everyone avoid it? Because, if reason disavows the appetite for life, the nothing which extends our acts is nonetheless of a power superior to all absolutes; it explains the tacit coalition of mortals against death. It is not only the symbol of existence, but existence itself; it is everything. And this nothing, this everything, cannot give life a meaning, but it nonetheless makes life persevere in what it is: a st

I wake and I pray to be hit by a bus. But sadly to say, I don't cross the street enough