welcome, internet stranger

please get comfy and stay awhile :3

-> scrolling skullz 
                    *whispers* hello friend                                                    hack the planet! 🌎                                                           🐡                                                                               it's a unix system. i know this.                                                                                                                                               we're all pilgrims and strangers, and nobody knows what the fuck they're doing.         never feel certain. sureness is sin.   feel good. pride. confidence. effortless. present. feel bad. doubt. anxiety. potential. past.    it's you. it's us.      we'll make it. of course. we all must make it. because       someday it'll be over. like a great big dream.    i hope we can wake up together.     and laugh at our efforts completely gone.    and gaze into each others eyes for eternity.      i want so badly to see you again.
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-> quote/poem selection

when you need hope and feel lost 
unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot,
nothing is going to get better. it's not.
when life hurts you 
the only way out
...
is through
when you remember them again, but it's okay 
your absence has gone through me
like thread through a needle.
everything i do is stitched with its color.
when you dissociate and need help grounding 
out of the night that covers me,
      black as the pit from pole to pole,
i thank whatever gods may be
      for my unconquerable soul.

in the fell clutch of circumstance
      i have not winced nor cried aloud.
under the bludgeonings of chance
      my head is bloody, but unbowed.

beyond this place of wrath and tears
      looms but the horror of the shade,
and yet the menace of the years
      finds and shall find me unafraid.

it matters not how strait the gate,
      how charged with punishments the scroll,
i am the master of my fate,
      i am the captain of my soul.
when you want to have an existential crisis and cry 
this, then, is the human problem:
  - there is a price to be paid for every increase in consciousness
  - we cannot be more sensitive to pleasure without being more sensitive to pain
  - by remembering the past, we can plan for the future
  - but the ability to plan for pleasure is
                                            offset
          by the ability to dread pain, and to fear the unknown

furthermore, the growth of an acute sense of the past and the future
gives us a correspondingly dim sense of the present

in other words:
  we seem to reach a point where the advantages of being conscious
    are outweight by its disadvantages
  where extreme sensitivity makes us un-adaptable
  under these circumstances we feel in conflict with our own bodies
    and the world around them, and it is consoling to be able to think
    that in this contradictory world we are but
                                    ~*~strangers and pilgrims~*~

for if our desires are out of accord with anything the finite world
can offer, it might seem that our nature is not of this world

that our hearts are made, not for the finite, but for *infinity*

the discontent of our souls would appear to be the sign and seal

                            of their divinity
when you want to have another, smaller existential crisis 
life is but a dream for the dead
    swim in illusion
    or sink in dread
when you feel cynical 
wheresoever you go,
go with all your heart.
when you feel overwhelmed by the past 
despite everything, it's still you.
when you feel alone, and need to know that you aren't. when you need to know that other people have felt the same way that you do. that your suffering is heard and echoed and felt through time and space. 
love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
eat i must, and sleep i will, — and would that night were here!
but ah! — to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
would that it were day again! — with twilight near!

love has gone and left me and i don't know what to do;
this or that or what you will is all the same to me;
but all the things that i begin i leave before i'm through, —
there's little use in anything as far as i can see.

love has gone and left me, — and the neighbors knock and borrow,
and life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse, —
and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
there's this little street and this little house.

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