That's the world for me. There's nothing fascinating about it. It's hopeless, dark, scary, barren. Adjectives are abundant, will is not. Now it's funny how a most minute experience reminds you how it felt to cling to hope again. It's that perhaps I should expect my imagination resurrects; Imagine a machine with no drive in all the gears and motors. A robot lost in wastes.

A lose of hope is a lose of faith. In all the promises the world made you. But there's no force in the decrees of Gods.

Memory fails me. I bear boring company of an exhausted Muse and her weak excuses. I'll finally fall when I least expect it and she won't lend a hand.

Void of all the amusements of a life full, world loses all its glory of abstraction. Food is as material as it gets and I as animal as I am. It's the usual channels to win the hearts of nihilists.