"...the process of evolution does not necessarily mean elevation, enhancement, strengthening."

Friedrich Nitzssche

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At some point something's going to give way. There's only so much chaos that sentimental order can take. There's only so much order our chaotic brains can take. The world's made of filler that is living, breathing, moving. Human perceptions falter through nothingness. Comprehension equates to power but knowledge, in truest form, is unknowable. There is no concrete theorm, no steadfast theistic confrontation. Individuality could simply be a lie.

The best time for waking up is when the world sleeps at a standstill. Capture creature wisdoms and knife them down. Pieces should be carried away. You never know when you might need that animalistic instinct you've pushed away.

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I need to write more. This feeling is so overpowering. It's like a slow suffocation. I've been pushing it away from me but it's a stupid thing for me to do. Writing is the very air I breath. Without the words flowing out of my brain into something concrete I will simply cease to exist.

I need to write.

It's unchangeable.

I am a writer.