anxiety weaves its web around the mind, a relentless whisper reminding you of the fragility of certainty and the transience of peace. Here, powerlessness becomes a philosophical paradox, for the more you grasp at control, the more elusive it becomes, slipping like sand through clenched fists. Perpetual loneliness is not just an absence of company but a profound separation from the self, a disquieting realization that in a world teeming with voices, your own goes unheard, even by you. Exile, then, is not merely a physical displacement but an existential state, a drifting apart from the essence of belonging, a wandering soul searching for meaning in the vast void of human experience. In this landscape, one confronts the harsh truths of existence: that to be is to be anxious, to strive is to be powerless, to live is to be lonely, and to know oneself is to face exile.
"Everyone I have cared for has either died or left me. Everyone - fucking except for you. So don't tell me that I would be safer with someone else because the truth is I would just be more scared."
“Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.”
A.P.P.L.E.
Powerlessness.
Perpetual.
Loneliness.
Exile.
anxiety weaves its web around the mind, a relentless whisper reminding you of the fragility of certainty and the transience of peace. Here, powerlessness becomes a philosophical paradox, for the more you grasp at control, the more elusive it becomes, slipping like sand through clenched fists. Perpetual loneliness is not just an absence of company but a profound separation from the self, a disquieting realization that in a world teeming with voices, your own goes unheard, even by you. Exile, then, is not merely a physical displacement but an existential state, a drifting apart from the essence of belonging, a wandering soul searching for meaning in the vast void of human experience. In this landscape, one confronts the harsh truths of existence: that to be is to be anxious, to strive is to be powerless, to live is to be lonely, and to know oneself is to face exile.
William Carlos Williams
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Enjoydog
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MURICA
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Grass Crest Shield
The grass crest is lightly imbued with magic, which slightly speeds stamina recovery.