no love

no hate

hate the season

love the pagans, infidels and idolatrous non-achievers

i love them all

alone, i love them all

forlorn and forsaken, lost all hope

the retreat into solitude awaits

no hate, no love

just the lake

 

I and you

I love, I have no hope. 

I breathe, I have no fear.

I touch, I have no existence.

Hope

I wish you had had doubts. 

I asked you if you were sure, and you said yes.

I had lost hope, and I had abandoned hope.

I had resigned to living in your shadow.

You rekindled the hope.

I do not know what it is that you were sure of. 

I was sure of the moment. 

I had all sorts of doubts about today.

Today is here, and I am with my doubts and a rekindled hope.

They were all wrong about hope. 

When hope dies, expectation ceases.

When expectation ceases, all is well. 

With hope, there is anxiety.

I do not like this.

I love you.

I wish that I did not love at all. 

The sign on the wall

It is dated from yesteryear. It says to fuck the bastard on mondays, and love the coward on tuesdays. Weak uptight, and egocentric, the wimp wanders through inferno.

Frustration, agression and a pitance of violence constitute the ritual of passage into the singularity. Shame, guilt and desperation are the ointment of destitution.