O ye enlightened ones, tell me what are some things (if there are any in the first place) that make life worth living?

O ye enlightened ones, tell me what are some things (if there are any in the first place) that make life worth living?

Random pic.

find something you love and let your life be overwhlemed by it

You can kys when you're alive

It seems that all the legit advice for living a fulfilling life is cringy as fuck.

It seems that all legit advice for living a fulfilling life is cringy as fuck.

not sure feel like I am trapped

I don't want to live it, but I don't hate myself enough to end me

I think I kinda understand how you feel. I'm fully aware that my current way of living is highly unsatisfying, ignoble and unfulfilling, but it seems that I don't hate myself enough to actually want to change myself into a better human being.

And of course, there's the thing with me not wanting to ruin my parents' hearts, and me being scared shitless of death.

If you awaken from this illusion and you understand that black implies white, self implies other, life implies death (or shall I say death implies life?), you can feel yourself – not as a stranger in the world, not as something here on probation, not as something that has arrived here by fluke - but you can begin to feel your own existence as absolutely fundamental.

I am not trying to sell you on this idea in the sense of converting you to it, I want you to play with it. I want you to think of its possibilities, I am not trying to prove it. I am just putting it forward as a possibility of life to think about. So then, let’s suppose that you were able every night to dream any dream you wanted to dream, and that you could for example have the power within one night to dream 75 years of time, or any length of time you wanted to have.

And you would, naturally, as you began on this adventure of dreams, you would fulfill all your wishes. You would have every kind of pleasure during your sleep. And after several nights of 75 years of total pleasure each you would say “Well that was pretty great”. But now let’s have a surprise, let’s have a dream which isn’t under control, where something is gonna happen to me that I don’t know what it's gonna be.

And you would dig that and would come out of that and you would say “Wow that was a close shave, wasn’t it?”. Then you would get more and more adventurous and you would make further- and further-out gambles what you would dream. And finally, you would dream where you are now. You would dream the dream of living the life that you are actually living today.

...

A plane crashed by a giant rock is one of the things that makes life worth living?

between the lines but yes.

Not being dead is a good start.

I wanted to call you a faggot kike nigger. then I thought on it. now I call you fam. thank you user I will spread this wisdom.

please dont spread anything of yours ever

you however are a dumb nigger Kysn

far too late

1- beer on an empty stomach
2- morning cig
3- sex

>normie book tier info quote

1. I don't drink.
2. I don't smoke.
3. I'm too beta to get a girl.

I call it "coming back online."
That moment when you first come out of drunken blackout. It's always frightening. Where am I? What is this neighborhood? What happened to my face? Where's my wallet? Some people, when they drink enough to disable their short term memory, immediately collapse into an immobile heap. This is nature's failsafe. But I lack this feature. I can walk and talk and carry a tune, yet have no idea of what's going on.

I have never come back online to find myself up to any good. I have never emerged from a blackout to find that I have built a convenient spice rack or delivered a moving speech about women's rights. It's always been some fucking calamity.

The last time I came back online, I was standing in my front yard having a conversation with my parents. Even in my tottering state, I knew this couldn't be a good thing. I had no idea what we were talking about. Why were we talking about it on the front lawn? At night? What time was it? Hoping for a clue, I waited for something to come out of my mouth. And here it was: "Didn't you notice I never left my room? I've been living with you for 6 months. I think I've seen each of you twice."

This was bad. I knew I shouldn't be saying something like this. It sounded terribly confessional. Ever since I had gotten fired and moved back in with my parents, I had been holed in my childhood bedroom, secretly drinking and basking in an unremitting sense of personal shame. But this was all supposed to be a secret. As far as my parents knew, I was freelancing and "getting back on my feet." This scene, this mad scene, was not part of that narrative.

>supersport motorcycles

hookers and weed, fun times