#philosophical

[nyancrimew]

there should be something like jerking off but for romance #philosophy

[magavont]

INTERDIMENSIONAL NIHILISM

Fragment I - “Anhedonia”

(IN-I-2025), 11/04/2025

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There lies within the ribcage of my bones an apathy of my broken soul. It hums within the graveyards of lingering dreams, an insect trapped inside the idea of who I could have been. I feel it crawl beneath my shallow skin, a soft rebellion against the lethargy of mind and flesh. It twirls behind the prison bars of my heart and lungs - a reminder of my humanity, of the child who dreamt in futures made of what-ifs. And yet still, my breath is heavy, and my eyes are blurred; I walk only because gravity insists. I have become a vessel of almosts and not-quites, stitched together by the memory of wanting. And still, the insect hums - a flicker of the flame I once called passion, a quiet yet constant whisper that, despite it all, I breathe.

Time runs ahead of me, and I am stuck - frozen within myself, watching from a distance. A by-passenger in the slow unraveling of my own life. Everything moves, yet I remain. My grasp on the light is close - it always has been - but my limbs refuse to follow. There is no greater tragedy than this: to be born with a mind capable of building cathedrals, but with a body that only wants to disappear. I stare at the ceiling as the sun climbs higher, as the world begs me to rise, and still I lie there, trapped beneath the weight of my own skin. My inability to get out of bed is killing me - slowly driving me into an existential agony that even the angels who care for me can do nothing but weep.

Anhedonia was her name - eyes of sorrow, and tears her theme. And yet still, she does nothing but steal. A thief made of disease, a shadow stitched from memory, a whisper of the past that once showed smiley teeth.

“What is the point?” she asks, wrapping herself in a black veil that never lifts.

There’s no punctuation in a sentence that didn’t even begin.

“What reward remains,” she murmurs, “after being drowned in an endless sea?”

[blindfolded-nakedtruth]

The best compliment is to accept someone with whatever they have.

[thatpollguy]

Which sky is the prettiest?

Bright blue with no clouds at all

Stormy grey with flashes of lightning

Night sky lit up by city lights

Pale blue scattered with thin wispy white clouds

Clear starry night with a bright full moon

Clear starry night with a thin crescent moon

Orange sunrise

Bleak grey sky with no defined cloud shapes

Pink sunset

Deep indigo of a dawn sky

Rain clouds and partial blue sky, complete with rainbow

Cloudy sky with rays of sunlight piercing through

Voting ended onMar 1

[wordswithoutaworld]

Yesterday, in an unfamiliar woman, I recognized my own mother.

She wasn’t actually her, but the hairstyle and the color of her hair were so similar that I caught myself thinking:

“huh, how strange it is sometimes, how a single familiar detail can make you feel like you somehow know another person too, and because of that it becomes hard not to feel yourself somewhere nearby with them, in the same situation”.

That mother, after a Russian strike hit a residential building, stood for hours watching the rubble being cleared. By afternoon, my own mother told me that her daughter had stayed in contact until the very last moment, but after another collapse, the signal disappeared. The parents held on to hope for a miracle until the very end.

I recognize a voice that sounds like that of a friend I once had — in a completely different girl. She’s with a guy whose tone even reminds me of the one she used to date back then, the one I never really got along with — and the one she later cried to me about after their messy breakup, before getting back together with him again.

They are trying to evacuate from a building, around which strikes and interceptions are still happening. He tries to shield her with his body and calm her frightened voice, which in some distant way reminds me of how my friend used to react to horror movies — but she never sounded like this, not with this real, cold terror.

I realize that I actually don’t know at all how that friend of mine reacts to explosions at night or during the day. We haven’t spoken in a long time, even before the full-scale invasion began.

In a way, none of us truly knows each other, but I’ve heard both of them in some of the harder moments of their lives.

This frame is familiar to me too — like the ones I used to take after walks with friends, to later set as my phone wallpaper or post to my stories.

I don’t recognize this extra element in the sky, although by now it is more familiar than something I wouldn’t know.

I don’t recognize anyone in this frame.

I recognize the building — one of many old historical structures across the city. But I don’t know exactly where it is.

The fire from the strike looks far more familiar to me.

I recognize the square in the city center very well, but I don’t know these people — just some volunteers who came to plant a tree.

I wish I could recognize more people in moments like this.

My Dnipro has been under frequent shelling these past days.

[vintage-tigre]

[philosophors]

“Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.”

— Ernest Hemingway