We are ugly, we are flesh and bloated tissues moving each other and inside liquids like the worst set piece of The Fly. We make skin expand, extrude, and contract; it changes pigment and smell. We produce a manner of substances, each fueled with components that could potentially be used to power a generator. We are ugly machines.
So to be power, to be effective.
And I must be effective. I must keep on working.
My stomach hurts, no idea why. I believe you might fall under the impression that all days are miserable. No. Only some days are confusing. But can't talk about the nice sunny wind is it not boring?
Well, this is boring as well.
But I must keep sending inputs. I've got no idea of what I should even add to the game or the project. I'm sick of it. It's done. C'est fini. But what news do you bring this week on the laboral online reunion?
Oh brother, waking each day, I do know I'm rotting, I know it. I should get a job, maybe days will pass slower, but I am withering my life.
How curious to be 21 and feeling as of 40. Life is short. Deal with it.
YES, I AM.
Even if things get harder and harder to do code, draw, design, listen and the general unease is not helping my case, I must keep bringing value.
Those who think worth is intrinsic tell themselves a lie. No one is worth something beyond the little amount of money your government is willing to spend on your ransom.
I've been scraping off my data, my text, my face, my name. Oh, but you know it already. I simultaneously want everyone to know me and both unknow me. A security breach from LinkedIn, my third email. I know it's futile because I've seen what you can keep track of. You just need a little username to pick it all. And it doesn't matter if you have even your ass hairs exposed; all you need is only for one. One ugly machine that is hell-bent on hunting you down and dragging you to exist. That person maybe you don't know it yet. Neither do I.
I have brought some flowers to my room to keep track of time and days; if the water gets dirtied then I know it's been around three days since change. I can see the sunflower get tired. Bad thing is my room keeps the light dim, with those blackout curtains, and I wouldn't like it any other way. It uses less screen power to have my eyes maybe a bit less exposed to light, and the cancerous UV light of the radiating sun of Mexico, even much more the appalling heat that the big windows shine to my body.
Call is in 3 minutes.
Be noteworthy, be special, be valued. Be better.
You are not doing the series you wanted because you are stuck here.
You are not doing the game you wanted because you are stuck here.
You are not doing the story you wanted because you are stuck here.
By all means do not fuck it up.
such is the virtue of the young man. To mess up, to be frivulous, to be wrong, to be arrogant.
To see the old mad wither and fade, just slowly, just barely.
To catch that small and almost insignificant change in his tone, in his vocabulary index.
To see (in above power) the faulty and decaying mechanism of the ugly machine.
My only virtue now is being young. Handsome from youth. Pontentiality from youth. Privilege from youth. Time from youth.
It will eventually be stripped from me.
Have I told you yet about the existance and subsistance from energy?
From the existance based only in motion. The observant reality being the true reality
A rock that smells is not a live, but a rock that reacts is alive
The more it reacts the more it is alive
Funny story
I hope I can tell you about it someday
A day where you have lived and died infinitely.