In my dictatorship everyone will practice anarchy.
i will become the most notable tyrant in human history. i will rule in a dictatorship where everyone practices anarchy. Within chaos there will be peace, and i shall call it dissensanon, the land of contradictions.
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Father Time mourning Mother Earth, the love of his life. He tried to do everything to stop them from hurting her, from destroying her, but to no avail. Now she is gone, and he can’t save her.
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Sometimes I wonder how much more chaotic could my life get at this point. Sometimes I wonder if I can dig my way out of this. Sometimes I wonder if I bring this on myself, or if some force out there is working to break me. Sometimes I wonder if I can block out the world, even just for a minute. Sometimes I wonder if this is real. But most of all, I wonder how I’m going to react when it gets a lot worse, because it will.
I don’t mean to be depressing and I’m not looking for your sympathy, but sometimes writing something to the world is easier than speaking to your friends because writing is thoughtful and carefully written. In writing I can say what I mean and it carries a lot easier. It’s monotone, until the reader puts a voice to it. …But while I’m writing this I wonder, is it to get something off my back? Is it opening me up, or is it building a wall from the world? Is it improving my ability to think my thoughts through? Is it hindering my ability to talk to actual people?
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Photoset reblogged from Super High-school Level Tuna
