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“Love is a variety of different feelings, states, and attitudes that ranges from interpersonal affection (“I love my mother”) to pleasure (“I loved that meal”). It can refer to an emotion of a strong attraction and personal attachment.”

“Happiness is a mental or emotional state of well-being defined by positive or pleasant emotions ranging from contentment to intense joy. Happy mental states may also reflect judgements by a person about their overall well-being.”

Love and happiness – I feel not a single true moment of addiction at all. Dry turkey, not one drop of precum. Not one teardrop expressing the amazement happiness or its loss. I will get over it. Each single time I pull myself out. If shame wouldn´t cross my rehabilitation, I suppose there would be no regret, not even for the mistakes I have done. Relationships are not built to last, they are built to keep your sexual desires in place, to pacify and to provide the industry a solid home of resources, and to facilitate the machine, keep it going, fresh meat. How romantic, intense and supersexy war is. Heroes. Victims. Victory. Grief. Blood. The power of man. I served, alternative service. Love is a nice bonus in the dramatic play of relations and its cultural background and impacts. Love is just a combination of affirmative hormons, getting together to throw a party. Hence, there will be hangover. Yes, there will be if I am part of the bash. There will be unforgiveness, contrary to the concept of be and not concern to be. Jealousness. Claim of ownership, which is basically slavery. Happiness. Come on. Really? Hippies, happiness junkies. Love and happiness, my sadistic abyss, my panic room, my torture chamber. The further I go down the road of self-destruction, leaving the path of a pure and safe addiction for the better, the more truth, my truth, disgust and anger, hate and the permanent despair of indirectness of things is turning into a freaking zombi attack. I drink twice more than I usually have to or want to. I have a strong desire, animalistic, brutally brute desire to fuck. I want to ram my dick in the throat of thousands wet screaming pussies and my brain drowning in acid. I don´t want to go home, to my cats, to my girlfriend, open my fence, closing my awareness for the blood soaked ground, on which people plant their ignorant flowers and water it with their back to the roots slurry tales. I want to do things wrong just not to be captured in standardism. I am an addict just because I don´t want to be normal. Normal in a sense of unreflected and believing. Enduring life is closer to what is than trying to escape its victims and demonised rejects.