>>545912954
>was sexually pleasing married women to cure their hysteria
maybe they just talked

Few of us can begin to imagine the horror of you -- with all of creation reflected in your forebrain. It must be like the highest of hells, a kaleidoscope of fire and writhing glass. Eternal damnation.

PINKNESS IS A RACIAL QUALITY THAT HAS TO BE EARNED THROUGH CENTURIES OF ADVANCED BALLISTIC WARFARE AND CULTURAL DOMINATION THAT THE GRAAD PEOPLE HAVE UNDERGONE FOR DRINKING AL GUL AND SMOKING THE DEGENERATE *TABAC* HERB... AND FOR EATING *POTATO*.

Subdue the regret. Dust yourself off, proceed. You'll get it in the next life, where you don't make mistakes. Do what you can with this one, while you're alive.

Why should we just leave and leave -- and the world get left behind?

Where it goes silent. And dark. Kilometre by kilometre. In any direction. A Stormed World is a place you cannot come back from.

TWO DAYS
TWO DAYS UNTIL I PUNCH MARUCS
TWO DAYS UNTIL I GIVE THAT BROKE RUSSIAN HER YOUNG DAUGHTER
TWO DAYS
TWO DAYS

Still, there's something inherently violent even about dice rolls. It's like every time you cast a die, something disappears. Some alternative ending, or an entirely different world...

La responsabilité isn't concerned with trivial questions like *who killed who*. It's about the real issues: the human welfare index, the price of staple goods, the transition to real democracy...

Everyone has their own method of coping, some more effective, or self-destructive, than others...

A grey rain falls on Vienna. The city soaks in it, cold and dripping. Waves hit the concrete breakers. The homeless huddle by the fires behind the fences. There, among the shacks, is your home. Stay. Have a drink. Forever.

“I love Vienna, though.” She looks around, the wind in her hair. “I hope she loves me too.”

Maybe you should *stop* obsessing about your own -- and other people's -- sexuality? Feels like it’s about time to do that. You’ve thought about this for *eight hours*?! Not only should you stop, you should tell Isolde you've stopped obsessing about other people's sexuality too.

Isolde, I wanted to write you a letter, so you can read it when you wake up. Maybe it will make you happy. Every morning when I step out and you're asleep behind me, I find a little piece of sadness in me. I carry it in my chest down Voyager Road...