People today can’t conceive of anything without first prejudging it with an ideological lens – everything is framed in terms of left versus right, progress versus decline, vague freedom and even-vaguer slavery. But that perspective callously betrays everything life is. A man’s actions matter not for what they achieve, but for what they serve. To fight, to work, to die – these acts only matter when they are aligned with a higher principle. It is man answering the void – not with abnegation, but with meaning and purpose that extends forever. Without God, every action is made inhuman. In a very Kantian-way, everything becomes evil. Man’s mind is made to be invalid – everything you see is an illusory phantasm, and everything you do is pure-concentrate sin. The preface to every thought must be greed. Even empathy is made out to be a sick cruel judgemental deficiency. Without anything even beginning to resemble direction, we lose the very language to articulate our entropy. In this dystopia, it is no wonder everyone has retreated into neverending self-parody. People have become so socialized – so hollowed out by performance, that our ego’s participation in society, and occupation of all of our thoughts, sees all love – all authenticity, as cringe. I yearn earnestly but everyone else is castrated of sincerity. It isn’t that I am looking for some impossible ideal – I am looking for anything. I’m not watching Hallmark movies with longing eyes; I am looking at any moment of history before this one. The real cruelty is that everything I want exists only in simulated form.

No risk. No connection. And arguably, no eroticism. ~Jun 10th, 2025

Every “archetype” was commodified before I even had the chance to fall in love with it. Everyone is a zombie, stripped of all depth. Doe-eyed women have become a modern myth. Fuck abandoned malls and yellow office interiors – women have become liminal spaces. When was the last time you even saw a woman with tangled hair or a bare face? Everything has to be synthetic; everything is contemporary and calculated. Everything is a cognitionless facade; it is possession confused for creation. Will this stage act ever end?