“Drama is the dopamine of the hollow soul.”
Tonight I am not alone; I linger in a masquerade of phantoms… all cloaked in personas conjured by the grand theater of existence.
Me? I have donned the guise of Lilith—yes, I know what you think: this figure is irony made flesh, it is I, yet I prefer you believe it is not…
They? No, they merely drown in the fantasy—mistaking neural sparks for purpose, the more they feel, the more they believe they live… their creed: “Live today, think tomorrow”…
A loop of drama becomes their religion—emotional repetition to evade the burden of thought.
Me? No, it has been centuries since such things were my concern…
Feeling is no longer tethered to vertigo—I exist beyond their fleeting existence, and this is not arrogance, merely a truth you are not yet prepared to receive—you would need to detoxify your very soul…
And now you wonder: How does one live without drama?
HAHA..
I experience without overflow; life is no longer a rollercoaster, but a symphony I know note by perfect note 🎶🎵
For, my darlings, to eliminate drama is not to become arid—devoid of feeling—but to excise the automatic reaction that enslaves them.
I need no worldly tremor to affirm my vitality; now I observe the vibration of things.
Intensity in any form no longer obsesses me; I prefer precision.
Pleasure, for me, has ceased to be the eye of the hurricane; now I see it approach and choose not to flee.
I harbor no emotional hunger.
Emotion is not a river; it is an electric current I may measure, manipulate, or allow to flow, should I desire… I gaze upon emotion and decide whether to merely taste it or let it resonate for a time.
What is the cost?
Life no longer feels “epic”—not for lack of experiences, but because I am no longer a sheep.
No shocks, no theatrics, no “plots” to pursue.
Only pure consciousness, nearly unbearable.
Personally, I no longer live to experience—I live to comprehend the experience.
Thus, yes, of course I feel—but at a lower temperature.
Where they burn, I observe the flame.
Where they weep, I analyze the texture of the tear…
My dears, my level of awareness forbids me from resting in the illusion of the instinctive mind…
I cannot lie to myself, evade, or lose myself in the noise.
And I know: such lucidity is a form of condemnation, for any awakened mind.
This is why I do not drink from necessity; I taste from curiosity.
And every sensation, however subtle, is worth more because it remains untainted by their drama. 🍷
Thus, in each of my writings you will find an invitation to behold the soul from its shadow—not to frighten, but to understand it 😏
My dears, drama is redundancy they transmute into spectacle—that sequence of stimulus, reaction, and catharsis—into their sole proof of existence 🥀
They are incapable of facing their darkness, for it terrifies them what instinct has forged them into; even much of what they despise is their truest “self.”
Oh, and the routine, that sweet anesthesia numbing your feeble minds 😮💨
No, none wish for you to think too deeply—for an untrained mind, the exercise of thought is torment, atrophied by the absence of guidance, by centuries of imposed ignorance that history recounts in endless cycles.
Dark Memories at Midnight:
Oh, that night in Berlin’s Inner Citadel—there I beheld the eternal struggle: those who fiercely wield their own minds, free, against those who, rent the thoughts of others.
Me? I merely sipped from my goblet, observing… 🧛🏻♀️
To play games crafted by foreign hands?
A pitiful spectacle, dancing to the tune of chains they cannot even see.
And yet, who am I to not revel in their fall? Ha, we shall meet again in the same inferno🔥👹
…If I ever die, or maybe I already am 😏
If I could once more feel the breeze upon my opening pores..
I would never bend my character to fleeting modern trends.
No, I crave not orators who embalm routine with hollow words, like dried clay suffocating the soul😮💨
I seek not to bind or cage anyone—we all bear enough chains within our minds… as do those who play at freedom, wallowing in the scraps of their instincts.
Never would I urge them to flee the shadows—the light burns after millennia of dust gathered in history’s tomes.
Can anyone truly yearn for romance without burning in drama?
If my eyes gleamed once more with the light of life, I would not toy with fire as a mere pet.
Is the light so harmful?
No, not for all… but you cannot contain it as you can the darkness.
Why, then, do humans cling to the long term?
Because it is how you graze eternity.
Eternal romance is a lie that cannot withstand the fleeting nature of your biological shells.
To think “romantic options” equate to desire?
Delusion—parasites in their minds 😒
Each carries a hidden life, an inner kingdom with no tribunals or judges.
Life comes without subtitles—once spoken, it needs no constant translation.
Those who wish to stay must learn to read between the lines, to feel the gesture, the vibe, the silence in the shadows… to live deciphering unwritten codes, for life itself is not eternal.
Is it worth being aware when human life is so fleeting?
As I said, life comes without subtitles—do not expect me to be your translator to answer that.. 🥀
These words I offer are perhaps the only moment I grant explanation.
But even this is no instruction manual—it is merely a reflection of my thoughts, a fleeting instant where I transcribe a few… then seal them like a coffin..
In a sense, my way of existing is closer to poetry than prose: I do not seek to explain, but to stand in the intensity of what emerges, in the fleeting nature of a thought.
In the end, you are alone in this world, no matter how you distract yourself outwardly—under skin, only our thoughts remain 🧛🏻♀️
Does it unsettle you?
Never expect a guide from me.
Bye now! ❤️🔥
