This is rather tiring

"Once again, Hel is reaching deep inside of her, stormy seas and lost souls. She’s dreamt of this before.

They say dreams are visions of our memories, hopes, and fears as seen by our inner eye.

And what if each one of us is always dreaming even when awake? And we only see what our inner eye wants for us?

Is this what Hel is? A world shaped by Senua’s nightmares?

Maybe.

That’s why people fear seeing the wolf in her eyes. Because if you believe that Senua’s reality is twisted, you must accept that yours might be too."

Senua's Sacrifice

In this waking nightmare where all dreams come true, you searched for control. A way to pull through. When you were in love you left him in tears. To smother your furies and banish your fears.

But in darkness they came, through stormy black seas they raided these shores.

Do you still hear his screams? And now that you're home he's so far away. They've taken his soul.

To these gods you cannot pray.

They can break you, but not your promise. Even death won't keep you apart. Through his darkness you will find him. In your sword still beats a heart. You fought for love unspoiled. By your darkness within. You fought for your dreams, now there is no way to win.

In the head of his corpse lies the seat of his soul. So you must carry his vessel and bring him back home.

Something lurks about. Like a shadow, it is something I can see, but I can't grasp. It isn't really there, you see? You can't grab a shadow. You can't grab an idea.

Maybe it's general absence following my steps.

The absense of identity, inspiration, pride - the awful aftertaste of some fantastic drug. The long withdrawal and the sense of losing oneself in the process.

Maybe it's the madness, peering at me from far away.

These dreams, of confusion, and death, and sorrow, an unescapable mess of threats and fear and tears and innocence.

"The hardest battles are fought in the mind."

“I’ve met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, “Why?”
Why did I cause so much pain?
Didn’t I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness?
Can’t I see how we’re all manifestations of love?
I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God’s got this all wrong.
We are not special.
We are not crap or trash, either.
We just are.
We just are, and what happens just happens.
And God says, “No, that’s not right.”
Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can’t teach God anything.”

And you hold dear the whisper, as peacefuly as it can be.

Put your mind at peace, put your heart at peace, they are - and always were - your own.

"Experience yourself."

I'll try and keep my fear away.

Such a story couldn't have a single narrator.

It had to have two.

And though I dare not open the fragile book, I dream of the sound of its pages turning.

When I least expect, the book whispers.

Many pages had been filled with bitterness, many more with sadness, but all pages smell of you. A story doesn't get bad for showing a range of emotions, feelings, tastes and smells. It only gets more complete. Bittersweet.

Of Alice

His eyes are tired, ready to rest, though his heart and mind were ever restless. For they all knew of a life and love story that was born too soon, and is now an old man's inner rambling about what could have been.

A book someone thought it'd turn to dust the moment he'd open it to read the words, see the pictures, watch the story unfold.

The narrator holds the story close to his heart, and so he wants, and so he cares, and is afraid, and yearns, the words, about the words, of the words, for the words.

And he forms a smile. A story no one will ever be able to take from him.

"I... A universe of atoms, an atom in the universe."

"Yeah, about the test. The test will measure whether you're an informed, engaged, and productive citizen or the world. And it will take place in schools, and bars, and hospitals, and dorm rooms, and in places of worship. You will be tested on first dates, and job interviews, while watching football, and while scrolling through your twitter feed. The test will judge your ability to think about things other than celebrity marriages, whether you'll be easily persuaded by empty political rhetoric, and whether you'll be able to place your life and your community in a broader context. The test will last your entire life, and it will be comprised of the millions of decisions that when taken together will make your life yours. And everything, everything will be on it.

I know, right? So, pay attention."

My soul has flown away, replaced by cringy emptiness, and I didn't even notice it until it was too late.

"It's called a changeover."