Better unreceding that.

So, no hope anywhere. Or, say, no sign anywhere. This, yes, rather. Somehow more accurate. Maybe try building some sort of hope. New hope. Ideally not expecting too much… Or expecting, but with hope, precisely. Whatever. A change. A change has to occur. Or maybe no change at all. That is, maybe no radical change. A slope maybe rather. A pathway, something. Something, at least, out of bloody mysticism. Better in radical pain than that. Unimportant. Think of something else. How to rebuild work. Work ability. Or just build it, rather, since there hasn’t been much of that in the past. Build at last. Build for once. For a while. Forcing comes to mind. Always. Am I just unable to force myself? Have I forced myself too much? That sounds hardly plausible. The dream, the temptation of discipline. And yet this profound mistrust. There is something fascist in the air. Discipline is one of its main word. Don’t give in. Don’t. Better be a waste. Better be in pain. Same for all those naïve, exasperating believisms. Everywhere. Don’t give in. Don’t fall back. Like Europe. Don’t sink again. Better the swamp. Better the wreck, the sluggish shitty waste drifting away. The wafted waste. Better that. Better unreceding that.

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