efe-vegas

[efe-vegas]

If you have achieved something, please remember to observe a mandatory period of basking in the warm glow of your achievement like a lizard on a stone, lest you teach your brain that effort is futile, actually, because it didn't get to enjoy its happy chemicals, so, naturally, nothing good ever comes of trying. (And no, avoiding punishment is not a reward!)

I recommend, like, 5% of basking time in relation to whatever time you invested into achieving the thing minimum. And if you can't make your own bask, friend-brought is fine (= tell your friends!).

[efe-vegas]

crazy how 4 hours of work will literally take up my entire 15+ hour day. who allowed this

[efe-vegas]

All hail the mid machine

[efe-vegas]

you need to look forward with two eyes im stuck in my ways dont know who else could take vision of all the stars that step by when you walk by cant ever question the days go by so fast and i cant think of you with myself cause of distant memories that i cant remember long lost i stepped up with great force forgot how to talk for a second put my player mask on now you wont know who i am im not even here right now im in the bar across the street trying to redeem myself its so hard to believe theres a way out of this

cause and effect take a sip from your beer synchronized to the dude sitting across i sometimes think if i wish i was him or if i wish he was i i try to catch your eye with a huge net in my hand cast it away theres no fish in the sea now im fixated on my ways

[efe-vegas]

[efe-vegas]

About death

I never understood why people wanted to bury their loved ones in wooden, polished caskets. There, they rot, slowly, sunken in soil but abandoned from light. Eventually they are digested, nature has its ways to crack open the impermeable shell of a casket door, and shared back into life.

The casket, serving an aesthetic of respect and permanence, tries to prevent the thought: them, lying in the soil, decomposed, degraded by the surrounding organism. And even at that, it might have done a bad job.

To most of us, a human is a monolith, an identity with values, experiences, relations, occasionally stricken to its core. To think of her, flesh torn apart, turnt into a mush, continuing to breathe in a million worms and fungi and bacteria… She used to have morals once.

Now she surrounds us, she came from the mothership and returned exactly there. She, born from a million other deaths, rose to a singleton for a good 75 years, living as a leaf in the branches of the most fruitful tree. And neighbors, who looked so distant and different, high and above, stemmed a million branches away, born from the same root, and fallen into the same soil.

Once, we won’t know it then, we will again breath in the same tree. Just like now, when we are those who lived centuries before us, carrying the grieved lover and the late wife in the same arm, same leg.