Summer sunsets at 7:45pm


Burn in hell
An end to your human experience is inevitable, but how you go and where you go is still up for debate. Does pain and pleasure really get triggered by the same censors? I’m not trying to raise hell like some cenobite but why does each extreme feel so extraordinary on opposing ends of the spectrum? A cut, an orgasm, a death, a birth. 
Burn in hell
Are you afraid of what you cannot see and don’t know? I’ve been human for so long, almost all my life. I’ve been plagued with affinities and tendencies which another human will gladly justify my obsession and aid in my quest for the indulgence of these pleasures. Decadence. But lately the pendulum stopped swinging and is stuck. It’s stuck on pain and everything hurts. How can I explain this? Have you ever processed what it really means for something to be over? 
Burn in hell
The “wrath of god” is an amazing phrase. It takes the idea of this super being inflicting immense physical pain typically through the use of a medium. The idea of physical pain is enough to scare the simple. Pain is something we understand since we’re young. You do wrong, pow pow time, see? Simple. Now take that simple mind and tell them it’s infinite pow pow time (please explain what infinite means to the child so they can grasp what’s going on). You see how you mitigated the inherent evil just by extending the punishment indefinitely. B-R-I-L-L-I-A-N-T! 
Burn in hell
I came back from hell to tell you that there are no fires, no torture chambers, no bodies of blood, horrible screams or anything of the like. There’s just silence. The silence slips over your entire body and engulfs your soul in a sense of dread unlike anything you’ve felt on earth. You begin to feel yourself cry for no reason at all, but no one hears you, it’s dark and you can’t even hear yourself. You begin to panic. Where is everyone and everything that you’ve grown to love. The memories you made on earth are gone and you’re unsure of who you are. You feel your hands in front of you, your pupils dilate to catch any light to reassure that these are indeed your hands, but blackness is the only sight that registers. You feel desperation flip to fear and fear to agony all in what seems to be mere seconds. You begin to cry again. All you’re wishing for now is to hear the sound of your own voice but the heavy silence snuffs out any audible escape from within. You’re going to be here awhile. To burn is to actually feel, and wishes aren’t granted in hell. To burn for an eternity would be a pleasure in comparison. 

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