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You sit there, in the dark, in your flesh suit. It's cold outside, or maybe it's too hot? Your flesh suit makes a reaction that you don't want. Why can't you leave? The flesh suit demands reproduction, to flap around on another bony, flabby, sweaty, screeching flesh suit. Why? So you can produce more fleshy things that will grow to want to leave? The breathing. The shitting. The smells. Why?
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It's just the little aches and pains about living that suck so much. It's not even the outright suffering, it's the fact that you get tired, hungry, sick. I can't even make it through a day without having to take a nap at some point.
And I'd take all of those things if I could have a body I actually wanted.
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blood is an extraterrestrial that can't live on it's own and needs a host. a flesh suit to hold the blood.
don't go letting your blood free
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>>37736393
>>37736406
The flesh. The flesh. It's a permanent prison. Our minds cannot transcend it. Our minds are moulded by it. We are slaves.
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Living as a cloud of gas would be so nice
Not having to worry about my total mass or appearance of my constituting parts
Living for an eternity with no need for consumption or interaction
>ywn be a comfy collective of gaseous objects
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>>37736484
You desire things you can never have. Imagine things which are impossible. Love things that cannot exist. See a world through one pair of eyes; close your eyes and see another. What is this strange place? There is permanent suffering here.
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>You are condemned to this Hell.
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>wake up after a terrible nightmare
>back to the real one
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>>37736355
>Why?
@ 2:08 lad
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoNp8MaAeaw&index=9&list=PLzNe-s_5YMdgsxhOs_rNJvIu6ZAd5iJKT
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>>37736801
First I will question thee about hell.
Tell me, where is this place that men call hell?
Under the heavens.
Aye, but whereabouts?
Within the bowels of these elements,
Where we are tortured and remain for ever:
Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed
In one self-place; but where we are is hell,
And where hell is, there must we ever be:
And, to be short, when all the world dissolves,
And every creature shall be purified,
All places shall be hell that are not heaven.
I think hell's a fable.
Aye, think so still, till experience change thy mind.
Why, dost thou think that Faustus shall be damned?
Aye, of necessity, for here's the scroll
In which thou hast given thy soul to Lucifer.
Aye, and body too; and what of that?
Think'st thou that Faustus is so fond to imagine
That, after this life, there is any pain?
No, these are trifles and mere old wives' tales.
Ah, but I am an instance to prove the contrary,
For I am damned and now in hell.
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