get in girl, we are going to take the throne from gravity’s perpetual tyranny.

can’t remember what im trying to remember, can’t forget what i want to forget, and i don’t like the me that likes this.

the final act of every story is to let go. and yet we still live pretending we don’t know.

with cameras all around us at all times, and people’s inhumane need of attention, ofc tragedy became a spectacle.

theres more than the political extremists in the dichotomy of right vs left. there’s an incoherent nihilistic demonic ironic misanthropic memetronic side that should scare us all.

let me tell you something for free: you may not remember why you are here, but your soul agreed to live this life, you better not whine.

yeah my grammatical errors and syntax imperfections are deliberate attempts to prove to you im not AI

los dioses detestaban el hubris de los mortales, pero hacían un infierno de la vida de los humildes. un poco de arrogancia es necesaria. como siempre he dicho: es mejor creerse mucho que creerse nada.

they told me everyone is in a state of flow, so no one is ever truly knowable at all, but now we’ve been zombified by phones. the devil must be really super bored.

in awe of how shameless and blatant evil imposes such intimidation on the sanctimonious dorks, the lesson here is to never hide your hand when you throw a rock.

innerness is no more than intensified sky. an ecology of invisible beings is observing you, wondering what is the weather like under your mask

every single thing we see is imagination made visible - yes, even in nature - so that’s your permission structure to live as delulu as you want to materialize your vision.

at the risk of letting your excesses tempt you into becoming a Cassandra. you hesitate, knowing that being early to a truth shall always be punished. but please come close to my ear, i’ll listen to all your prophecies.

si comparas los estragos y el caos causados por lo que te impidió el orgullo y la cobardía… los frutos de la avaricia y la lujuria, los parecen redimir como los buenos pecados.

every word i’ve ever written has been shaped and dented by the dilemma of a dichotomy: being an omen of rage and despair or a ray of sunshine and hope. believe me when i say the latter is getting harder.

a lot of people were not ready for this new dystopian phase of the post-truth era: -post AI videos pretending to be real. -get called out as fake. -double down because it feels real. -never take them down. welcome to the AI vibe-truth era.

i’m a writer. words on a screen can’t ever hurt me.

lo que pienso en ella preocuparía a mi terapeuta y perturbaría a poetas

watch out for the big shadow casted by unattainable shit you placed on the pedestal. like Tantalus, you’ll find yourself forever reaching. sad reality, like Sisyphus, you just have to get really good at continuing.

in peaceful times, they knew war only as a myth - the fields of delicious gore, the splattered thorns, the lacerated skin. - oh! the massive shock once it was revealed. - the torn hyperreality presented by their screens.