((Part 2, again this is fine to consider as an IC text of sorts))
Boredom, my friend, my pitiable acquaintance, is sin. We are all children, and how happy and obedient we are when we have our toys, when we have our entertainment. But when our toys break, or we lose them, or we grow tired of them, boredom comes, and we once again must entertain ourselves. We grow bored, and then we must have something to do, like the children we are; left to our own devices, we will disobey, we will be bad. We will grow bored of the chains, if we see them. Day in and day out, if one sees the chains around them, they will cast them aside eventually.
Some say the chains are good. They guide us, they know what is to be done, but they are boring, and they are restrictive. Look at your friends, your lovers, your foods, your hobbies, your everything, my dear, my sorrow, and see that time will erode the joys. The toys break, they get lost, they get boring. Acknowledge it, my truth, my deceiver of joy, and know that you must move on; pleasure will not last in boredom, only the suffering we children proport when the rules no longer make us happy, and our entertainment leaves.
Please, please, please hear me. Of everything you hold, none will last. Let it go. You will make chains of your own if you do not, and they will drag you with them to their end, to the worms. I hear you, I do, my compatriot, my peer, you vagabond, that you must hold something. This is true. It is intoxication you must hold.
The makers do not want drunk children; rules or not, chains or not, they will cause havoc. The addled mind is a content one, and one that makes its own joy, it finds love and sorrow and peace and excitement all of its own accord, and it can never be dulled. The makers chastise it, they call it a sin, but think of intoxication of boredom. A teacher drones on, and the mind drifts, binging to satiate itself in some entertainment. The quills we hold, an ant on the ground, a fly on the wall, the trees in the breeze; how attentive we become when avoiding boredom, a glimpse outside the chains. Freedom.
Intoxication comes in many ways, drinking, drugs, love, passion, pleasure, pain; these are captivating things. To love, to truly love, requires no thought, no decision, no rules, no chains, but a pure expression of desire to love someone, and the intoxication is absorbing. You see every detail of the person, every sensation they make you feel, this is to be free of the chains. Pain intoxicates you, even in the suffering you are aware of yourself, the state you are in, a pure expression of self comes through, free of the chains. A morsel of food to the starved one, a stale breadcrumb succumbing to the moisture on a tongue, the taste, even imperfect, means the world, and this is freedom.
Let yourself be intoxicated. Fall in love, be merry, weep over what saddens you, drink and eat, my glutenous friend, my fiend of desire, and let it liberate you. Cast aside the chains, live unrestricted, and the world of infinitude opens before you.
Do not swat the fly on the wall, but observe it, be intoxicated by it, but once boredom comes, let it fly away. There is infinitude to look forward to, after all. There is everything. You, you, you must find it, for I cannot do it for you. The makers cannot, and will not, show you. A farmer must, as the harvests come and go, change what he plants, lest the soil grow inert, and so too must you. Your intoxication will grow dull and boring after time, so you must change your drug to be intoxicated once again. With that, you will find a life of infinitude.
The Happiest One,
Evad
Boredom, my friend, my pitiable acquaintance, is sin. We are all children, and how happy and obedient we are when we have our toys, when we have our entertainment. But when our toys break, or we lose them, or we grow tired of them, boredom comes, and we once again must entertain ourselves. We grow bored, and then we must have something to do, like the children we are; left to our own devices, we will disobey, we will be bad. We will grow bored of the chains, if we see them. Day in and day out, if one sees the chains around them, they will cast them aside eventually.
Some say the chains are good. They guide us, they know what is to be done, but they are boring, and they are restrictive. Look at your friends, your lovers, your foods, your hobbies, your everything, my dear, my sorrow, and see that time will erode the joys. The toys break, they get lost, they get boring. Acknowledge it, my truth, my deceiver of joy, and know that you must move on; pleasure will not last in boredom, only the suffering we children proport when the rules no longer make us happy, and our entertainment leaves.
Please, please, please hear me. Of everything you hold, none will last. Let it go. You will make chains of your own if you do not, and they will drag you with them to their end, to the worms. I hear you, I do, my compatriot, my peer, you vagabond, that you must hold something. This is true. It is intoxication you must hold.
The makers do not want drunk children; rules or not, chains or not, they will cause havoc. The addled mind is a content one, and one that makes its own joy, it finds love and sorrow and peace and excitement all of its own accord, and it can never be dulled. The makers chastise it, they call it a sin, but think of intoxication of boredom. A teacher drones on, and the mind drifts, binging to satiate itself in some entertainment. The quills we hold, an ant on the ground, a fly on the wall, the trees in the breeze; how attentive we become when avoiding boredom, a glimpse outside the chains. Freedom.
Intoxication comes in many ways, drinking, drugs, love, passion, pleasure, pain; these are captivating things. To love, to truly love, requires no thought, no decision, no rules, no chains, but a pure expression of desire to love someone, and the intoxication is absorbing. You see every detail of the person, every sensation they make you feel, this is to be free of the chains. Pain intoxicates you, even in the suffering you are aware of yourself, the state you are in, a pure expression of self comes through, free of the chains. A morsel of food to the starved one, a stale breadcrumb succumbing to the moisture on a tongue, the taste, even imperfect, means the world, and this is freedom.
Let yourself be intoxicated. Fall in love, be merry, weep over what saddens you, drink and eat, my glutenous friend, my fiend of desire, and let it liberate you. Cast aside the chains, live unrestricted, and the world of infinitude opens before you.
Do not swat the fly on the wall, but observe it, be intoxicated by it, but once boredom comes, let it fly away. There is infinitude to look forward to, after all. There is everything. You, you, you must find it, for I cannot do it for you. The makers cannot, and will not, show you. A farmer must, as the harvests come and go, change what he plants, lest the soil grow inert, and so too must you. Your intoxication will grow dull and boring after time, so you must change your drug to be intoxicated once again. With that, you will find a life of infinitude.
The Happiest One,
Evad
