Happiness and good Fortune are like a golden sand flowing into an hourglass of life sometimes there are black grains representing the bad things that sometimes happen but for most they are tuning to gold once they reach the majority of gold. But for some people the sand has more black grains than most, and some of those tend to give their few golden grains to others to help them turn their black to gold, which often leave the givers with overpowering obsidian sand that often turns new gold to black. And if they ask others for just a speckle of gold in return to help Turing the black to gold, they often have to beg for it or end up turning the others sand black just by opening their their hourglass. I am certainly one of the latter people. My body and mind is filled with poisonous black sand and my tongue turns it into venom injecting it to others whenever reach for support or comfort. I have realized a very concerning pattern that gives me the worst anxiety right now. I'm poisoning the last golden grain of sand whenever I open my heart and don't swallow my feelings for once. I should finally stop trying and go back to being the quiet listener that gives her golden grains to others and fights against the black by herself. That will spare me from a lot of feelings of disappointment, and anxiety and guilt about upsetting others by voicing when I'm being upset or disappointed. I'll just suck it up and be too forgiving for my own good the sake of harmony. How sad is that? I have become scared of being upset because it upsets others and I feel guilty then. Can one be more of a peoplepleaser just to not end up all alone? Today was a terrible day on so many levels, not only was I still feeling upset, I was also anxious to the point of barely being able to breathe because I had I realized this destructive and poisonous pattern that always, really ALWAYS has been following when I open up and threatens the last good thing I have that is supposed to be an anchor right now. And on top of all, some actually supposedly good news came in from a friend but I can't be happy for them instead it really pulls me down because the topic reminds me of my health issues that are kinda related... And as I currently have no one to talk to because my tongue is venomous and I just ruin everone elses minds, I have to rant it out to strangers in the internet. Maybe the more creative writing approach I took in the beginning is at least somewhat enjoyable to read. It was kind inspired by this song... https://youtu.be/FK3TDHnD1_0?list=RDFK3TDHnD1_0

#biosecurity #biosafety #bioweapons #mirrorlife #mirrocells #biomolecules #cells #biology #threats #ThreatResearch #existential_threat #Doomsday #Biotechnology #microbiology #Immunology #biochemistry #Synthetic_Biology #bioengineering #ethics https://edition.cnn.com/2025/10/17/science/mirror-cell-life-dangers

Something tells me the next album Berenika will release is going to be incredible 🥰 . This is the third banger they recently released and I'm already obsessed with all 3 of them 🤩

We’re using excuses for our bad luck! Becoming strangers to ourselves. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvGwm8CbX80&list=RDlvGwm8CbX80&start_radio=1

It seems a shadow of misfortune follows me. I've come to expect it: a fleeting moment of light is always chased away by a familiar storm, pulling me back under with brutal force. What truly unnerves me is the silence within. The emotional echo of these disasters has faded to nothing. I am a dry well—events that should summon a flood of tears now barely register. Is this resilience, or is it erosion? My psyche, to save itself, seems to have severed the wires, leaving me feeling like an spectator in my own tragicomedy, muttering, 'This can't be real.' I observe my life as through a thick, silent pane of glass. The impact is muted, the meaning distant. I am a curious stranger to my own apathy, asking, 'What happens when you simply have nothing left to feel?' Is this emptiness making me stronger, or is it the void before the collapse? I built these walls stone by stone for protection, but now they encircle me. They keep the world's anguish out. The question is no longer about weathering the storm, but whether I am fortified within a sanctuary, or entombed within a cell of my own making.

Quick poll for the feed which is more dangerous? 1: The UK 2: Europe 3: A War Zone 4 An American Campus

listening to a banger rip in piss bozo

Your posts are not unlike your lower intestine. Stinky and loaded with danger!

https://youtu.be/Fx2FIjNznrE?si=mvMpFPQ1UBfO9VUR This song plays in my head when i see that hot coworker walking up to talk to me. "Oh my my, danger danger"

The Pulse That Outlives Me Since I was small, my hands have itched for the weight of something new, the warm breath of an idea still wet from birth. While others chased nights strung with music and lights, I chased the hum beneath my ribs— that low, holy vibration that says: Make. Make. Make. I am not afraid of death— only of silence, of the stillness that comes when the last word dries, when the last color fades from my palette. Some people fear missing the party. I fear missing the next perfect shiver of creation, the one that seizes my spine like lightning, the one that says: Here. This is yours. Make it real before it slips away forever. Even as a child, I knew my bones would be dust one day. But a poem— a song, a shadow on film, a brushstroke on canvas— that could outlive me. That could keep my voice whispering in the ears of strangers long after my name is forgotten. So I make. I bleed ink. I sweat pigment. I dream in shapes and sounds. Every piece is a fragment of the monument I am building to outlast my pulse. And when I am gone, let them find my works scattered like constellations— each one a flare I sent into the dark, each one still burning, still warm, still breathing my name. https://www.blogger.com/u/7/blog/post/edit/7919007891465025240/49843031849199149