Writing
Sit down and have a type. You want to fuck, have a wank, get that juice out. Do away with the provocation of the other. Disregard the inclination of survival.
A burying of oneself alive out of consideration of the impending destruction. No labour worth doing without enjoyment, but suffering to be glad of completion in the end of suffering. So let us go quietly into that deep cold night for what on ehad here was not wanted and slips easily from the hand.
Is the target there to shoot at or is it in ephemera? Is it nothing but a hollow inspiration to bring about self criticism and harsh practicality in the reader?