May you all choke on your forced positivity this week. My reality just crashed and burned to the ground. A true, loyal brother has been ripped from this meaningless simulation way too early. The cosmic joke is entirely on us: the good ones get tortured by cancer, while the absolute scum of the earth gets to breathe freely. If there is a creator, he is a sadistic architect playing with our pain. :skull:

:blackhole:
Emil Cioran ( April 8, 1911) understood this curse perfectly: "We do not rush toward death, we flee the catastrophe of birth."*
:blackhole:

Pirat has finally escaped this catastrophic existence. My grief is an endless, bleeding wound, and my absolute hatred for this grand design will outlast time itself. See you in the shadows, brother. *

"Die Leute fragen mich immer, ob ich Tyler Durden kenne…" Schönes WE!

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Can you add me as a friend i have something to ask