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Are we what we do.2

The silence is associated with death, the lack of movement, and everything that is undetectable by others than the organism experiencing it. If I voluntarily choose to hide or put myself in an undetectable state of existence, I will automatically get punished by the voices of the nurses, rescuers and crowd surrounding my remains as I am not allowed to not be traced and followed? My only chance to escape is act death and see the world frantically churns around me and decays until no one has any utilitarian reasons or interest in keeping me alive against my will. We stay on the surface or we are kept on the surface, the first being preferable to the second. But I say that we are kept on the surface or we choose which underground tomb will be our home and our work without worrying about what is above and below, what is luminous and dark and staying where it is so black that we can only be distinguished by the creatures who have adapted to our environment and found there the light necessary to see and what to see? Images that only they can distinguish and whose beauty they can recognize. I am the animal that isn't dead but tired of its master's abusive behaviours, tasteless habits and responses to my own language which they only perceive in a simplified coded 2ways dialect made of I need to shit and I need to eat, these two being considered as a major disruption if not varied enough in their choreography.

Are we what we do.1

What if I stop being active? What if I didn't evolve or grow or perform as everybody does around me today? That would produce a sense of self disgust and make me ashamed of my lack of will, my lack of vitality? Would i stop deserving to be alive if I didn't matched all the goals set up sine qua non life isn't being used correctly as it is supposed to be dedicated to a mission within society, within the social media...Every day that passes and every face I will cross is the significance of my satisfaction with myself, the expectations for what comes out of a being whether it is words, ideas or commitment are no longer qualitative but quantitative. It is possible that instructors and scholars have stopped looking for what a content is truly about in a frenzy to produce as much content as possible but what for? If i work for money, I would probably work as an advocate for the system of money and if I am rewarded for an achievement it is not so much for the achievement in itself but because i have placed or rather invested my reward and the significance of what is rewarded in the hands of this or that prominent influence that made a lot of money at a certain time and keep on making money because it transmitted the validity of its purpose into a sufficient number of people's psyche. Every second of life is about shifts and elevators and signing up. You have a number of possibilities to sign up for a trail and the delay to do so, both will lead you somewhere in opposition to the existentially distressing idea "leading to nowhere". Time, space and the actors embodied by us are in a board game and depending on how many trials you enroll yourself in, your position on the board game is eloquent and satisfactory to look at or pitiful and dissatisfactory. The closer you are to the end of the game before the end of life the more alive you will feel, the closer you are to your beginning square, the more isolated and purposeless you will feel which will cause self hatred, depression and anxiety. The most elementary rule is that it is only in the power of those who finished the game the earliest, the quickest before their own timer breaks down (death) to become the administrators of the game and maker of the rules the upcoming participants crossing the starting line will be playing with. But what if the winners of a game could only reproduce the same kind of rules as the ones that led them to victory regardless of what challenges the newest participants bring along with them. What if to become a board creator rather than board participant you needed to find a way to stop playing and extract yourself from the entire board not by crossing its finishing line but creating some underground tunnel that leads to another side of the reality you've been thrown on? What if it is not your name in a basket with many others all establishing their territory step by step harmoniously that mattered and was significant to fulfill some true happiness but giving all the attention to the phenomena your being creates and surfs on no matter what is being asked from the outside world, that invisible yet sensorially vivid magnetism almost triggering and somehow disturbing.

#neo liberalism #productivity #burn out #existentialism #philosophy #psychology #social phenomena #absurdism

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◤✞ 𝖂𝖍𝖞? 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓? 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊? 𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙? 𝕿𝖔 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖊𝖝𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙? 𝕰𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖆𝖑𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖉𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖎𝖙 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖎𝖙 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖘 𝖓𝖔 𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖊 𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖉𝖎𝖈𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖒𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖇𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖙…𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖌𝖓𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖔𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖜, 𝖔𝖗 𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖚𝖓𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝖒𝖞𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖗…𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖚𝖆𝖑𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘 𝖚𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖔𝖌 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖎𝖓𝖐, 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖓𝖊𝖜 𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖘 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖉 𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗, 𝖆𝖓 𝖆𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖈 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖑 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖕𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖔𝖌𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖞 𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖉…𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖋 𝖜𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖙? 𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖒𝖊𝖆𝖓 𝖘𝖆𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝖜𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖕𝖚𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖉,𝖆 𝖕𝖎𝖌𝖘𝖙𝖞 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖎𝖌𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖗𝖉𝖘? 𝕺𝖗 𝖒𝖆𝖞𝖇𝖊 𝖜𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖌𝖗𝖚𝖓𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖕𝖎𝖌𝖘. 𝕴 𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕴 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖈𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖌𝖆𝖑 𝖆𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖔 𝖆 𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖑𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖞 𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖚𝖕 𝖙𝖔 𝖎𝖙𝖘 𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖘𝖊𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖘…𝕴 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖓𝖚𝖒𝖇 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖞 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝕴'𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖑𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖞 𝖋𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖔 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖒𝖞𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝕴 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖓𝖊𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖗𝖊𝖋𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖚𝖕𝖔𝖓, 𝖉𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖊, 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖕𝖙. 𝕴 𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖜 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴'𝖒 𝖍𝖎𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊…𝖓𝖔 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖜 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍 𝖕𝖚𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖈 𝖘𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖊𝖆𝖈𝖍 𝖒𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖌𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖚𝖗𝖒𝖚𝖗𝖘 𝖊𝖝𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖈𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖙𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖌𝖔𝖑𝖉. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖈𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝖎𝖘 𝖕𝖚𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖈 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖎𝖙𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖘 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖊. 𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖊 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖋𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖒 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖉𝖎𝖋𝖞 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖚𝖓𝖇𝖔𝖗𝖓? 𝕴𝖘𝖓'𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖕𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊𝖉? 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖐, 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖈𝖙, 𝖇𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊, 𝖇𝖊 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖇𝖚𝖙…𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖜𝖊 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖆𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖉𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖆𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖓 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉(𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖙𝖘, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖘𝖞𝖒𝖇𝖔𝖑𝖘, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖛𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒 𝖙𝖔 𝖊𝖝𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖕𝖎𝖈𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖓'𝖙 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖆𝖓𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊'𝖘 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖘…𝖜𝖊 𝖆𝖉𝖉 𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖔𝖕 𝖔𝖋 𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖉 𝖉𝖊𝖇𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖊𝖙 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖚𝖕 𝖙𝖔 𝖆 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖉𝖔𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖑𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖎𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐, 𝖔𝖗 𝖎𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖉𝖔 𝖎𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖇𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖎-𝖉𝖊𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖕𝖚𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖈 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌. 𝕸𝖞 𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖞 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖓𝖔 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖒𝖊.𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖆 𝖏𝖔𝖇, 𝖎𝖙 𝖉𝖔𝖊𝖘𝖓'𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖓𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖘𝖔 𝖜𝖍𝖞 𝖉𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝖎𝖙 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖙𝖞? 𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖆𝖘𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖎𝖘 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖒𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖒𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕴 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖉. 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝕴 𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕴 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖘𝖊𝖊𝖐 𝖒𝖊 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖆𝖑𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖞 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖎𝖘 𝖓𝖔 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖆 𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙. 𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖆 𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖓𝖔 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖓𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖘 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖓𝖚𝖌𝖌𝖑𝖊 𝖚𝖕 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖘 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖉 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖇𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕𝖊𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖆 𝖇𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖔 𝖊𝖝𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖏𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖈𝖔𝖋𝖋𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖆𝖉𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖌𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖘. 𝕴 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖓, 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖍𝖚𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖋𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖍 𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖊𝖉 𝖘𝖔 𝖒𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖈𝖚𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖘𝖊𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖏𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖆𝖘 𝖎𝖋 𝖕𝖊𝖔𝖕𝖑𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝖆 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖋𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖞…𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖓𝖔 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖑𝖞 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝖇𝖊𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖘𝖔 𝖓𝖚𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖇𝖊𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖘 "𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈", "𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑"… ✞◥

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𝕱𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖚𝖗 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖊

꧁༺ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮, 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓲𝓽, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓫𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓶𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔀𝓮'𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓶 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝔂𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂'𝓼 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓬𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽. 𝓑𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓻𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓬𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓬 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓬𝓲𝓮𝓽𝔂'𝓼 𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓲𝓷 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓪 𝓫𝓾𝓰 (𝓶𝓮, 𝓾, 𝓾𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓼). 𝓘 𝔀𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓪𝓹𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓲𝔃𝓮 𝓪𝓼 𝓼𝓸𝓸𝓷 𝓪𝓼 𝓘 𝔀𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓾𝓹 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓾𝓹𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓻 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽. 𝓘 𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓴 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓼 𝓘 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓾𝓷𝓹𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓪 𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓼, 𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓯𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮-𝓼𝓲𝔃𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵. 𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓷 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓼𝓸𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓼𝓸 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓲𝓽. 𝓦𝓱𝔂 𝓭𝓸 𝓘 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓰𝓸 𝓸𝓾𝓽? 𝓣𝓸 𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓱, 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝓶𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓵 𝓼𝓲𝓵𝓴𝔂 𝔀𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓫𝓮𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓼𝓪𝓯𝓮𝓮, 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸𝔁𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓘 𝓶𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓬𝓴 𝓲𝓷 𝓭𝓲𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓼. 𝓖𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓹𝓹𝓵 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓪𝓽 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓯𝓮𝓼 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓪𝓵𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓹. 𝓦𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓱𝓷𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝔂, 𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓬 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓪 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓵𝓪𝓫 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝔀𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓾𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓷 𝓲𝓷𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓭𝓼. 𝓗𝓸𝔀 𝓭𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷 𝓪 𝓰𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓮𝓽 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓕𝓑𝓘 𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓪 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓶𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓶 𝓪𝓰𝓪𝓲𝓷? ༻꧂