Question

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A long stroke of stars paints the dark sky. Below, only a small candle illuminates the [[dirt]] in the ground. There is nothing here but [[you]]. You tell yourself [[you have to keep moving.->Passage 1]]

You've moved for what feels like hours, the candle is running out. You tell yourself [[you want to keep moving.->Passage 2]] Your legs feel heavy, but your soul is even heavier. [[You want to stop.->Stop 1]] You let your [[imagination]] fill in this dark embrace.

At some point you thought that it was worthwhile to carry on with what's deemed worthy. You thought... By doing worthwhile things, By enduring worhthwhile things, By [[suffering->Stop 1]] worthwhile things, You would become worthwhile yourself. Yet, [[you choose your own path.->Passage 3]] There is nothing but darkness here.

You sit down and bury your head between your legs. You curl into a ball. You start to... [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] [[Cry]] You settle [[down.->Question]] [[...->...]]

Nothing is sure. What is the point in trying. Just stay in the hole. [[Rot.]] [[Rot.]] [[Rot.]] Time is an avalanche of corpses rolling down. It never stops. It keeps going on. [[And on.]] [[And on.]] [[And on.]] [[And on.]] [[And on.]] [[And on.]]

The long dark settles in. A black shivering wind blows your life away. There is nothing else here. Not you, not anything else. It is [[over]]. <iframe width="100%" height="300" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/524656941&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/r0tkx5bqrizy" title="MISA" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">MISA</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/r0tkx5bqrizy/terror-mix-over-200-bpm" title="TERROR mix over 200 bpm" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">TERROR mix over 200 bpm</a></div>

No matter how much you cry. No matter how much you think about it. It is never enough. The [[void]] is still there. You think you're filling it, but nothing ever gets rid of it. It always come back. That much is a guarantee. Still, [[you carry on.->Passage 2]]

You expected this to be different. The images you had made in your head were sometimes very specific. This is not what the afterlife was supposed to look like. What are these things anyway? None of this makes any sense. We [[never]] thought about any of this. I [[never]] thought about any of this. ==> <iframe style="border: 0; width: 350px; height: 470px;" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=3196745700/size=large/bgcol=333333/linkcol=e99708/tracklist=false/track=3068033213/transparent=true/" seamless><a href="http://purewrath.bandcamp.com/album/the-forlorn-soldier">The Forlorn Soldier by Pure Wrath</a></iframe>

There might not really be a point to any of this. Is it reason enough to stop? Why do we need reasons? Do we need someone who makes them? What stops us from making our own? What is worth? Who decides what is worthwhile? What do we even [[want]]? Why do we even want? Why do we [[live?->Live]] <iframe width="100%" height="166" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/187682875"></iframe>

Sometime in the past you figured that life would be different now. Somehow, for whatever reason, you thought you'd be a different person from what you were back then. Why are you so surprised you're still the same person? You're stuck in your own skin for the rest of your life. There is no point in trying to [[escape]] the obvious.

We were not built to perceive reality. Have you ever thought about that? We were built to survive. Somewhere along those lines, we thought it was important that we understood each other. We do struggle a lot with it. We do suffer a lot because of it. We came to undertand that a thing like reality exists because we are so misunderstood. Do you think that we would know of reality if we always understood each other? What would be the point of it? Logic, reality, these things are a product of our desire to be understood. No matter how much we try to cover it. No matter how much we try to deny it. [[We want to be understood.->understood]]

After being burdened for so long, the soul starts to desire something of its own. You no longer appreciated the burdens of what's worthwhile. You want to [[create]] that worth for yourself. You have that much [[power]]. You take a long look at the established world and see in it one of many shapes. You face it defiantly and yell: "I will choose what I am by myself!" The weight of the world feels ligther now. [[You are free to go where you please->Passage 4]].

In your mind, a million strokes paint the crevices of your [[imagination]] . You wonder at the possibilities. You choose to create a world of your own. Worth is no longer an issue. Your own choices are all that matters. Even if reality goes on, you have become the master of your own existence. You are truly free.

I really do wonder if there is a real reason to be understood these days. Most of us have our needs are basically covered. Most of us have a roof under our heads. Most of us can get fed. Most of us are safe. Still, we ourselves create chaos. For some reason even if we can have our needs fulfilled, there will be people who will put our roofs, food and safety at risk. Hasn't it struck you as strange, that the people who have the most are the ones that are the most hungry for [[power]]? Isn't it also very tragic how it can destroy people who gain too much of it, too soon? It is never enough. If we cannot control ourselves we only devour ourselves. We all have to [[go on.->And on.]]

Have you ever wondered why some people get a measure of the world faster than others? What is that measure anyways? Does it resemble our own? The circumstances in which we are all brought up shape how we see the world. It has nothing to do with what's real or not. Some people... They think they see [[reality->never]], but they only see the world they have created. We all create our own world. There is no [[escaping->Passage 3]] it. <iframe width="100%" height="300" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/769245742&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/teki-latex" title="TEKI LATEX" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">TEKI LATEX</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/teki-latex/tekiandnicksmixtapequestadventure" title="Teki Latex & Nick Dwyer - TEKI AND NICK'S MIXTAPE QUEST ADVENTURE" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Teki Latex & Nick Dwyer - TEKI AND NICK'S MIXTAPE QUEST ADVENTURE</a></div>

[[Stillness]] [[Defiance->Passage 2]] [[Bird]]

You want so much. Yet you do so little. You're afraid of losing, But at the same time you have gained [[nothing]]. It frustrates you to be so [[powerless->power]]

It does not matter how much you feel it. It does not matter how much you want it. It does not matter how much you suffer it. It does not matter how much you have waited for it. It does not matter if you live for it. It does not matter if you die for it. All that matters is what you do with it. That is all that matters. Without doing, there is nothingness. What we are and what we do are different things because we can change how we think about ourselves and the world, but we cannot change what we are in reality. We are bound to this vessel. This vessel contains our soul. It is ours to command, but it is only from it where we can receive any sustenance. If it does not do, we do not exist. We can [[never]], ever [[escape]] this.

You are at a crossroads. There are three different directions you can go. You can go [[left]] You can go [[right]] You can go [[down]] You can go [[back->Stars]]

But... We are always free to [[be->Passage 4]]. To [[be->Passage 4]] is all we can [[be->Passage 4]].

<audio controls autoplay><source src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/80/Walther_concerto_b_03.Ogg"></audio> On high-school I had this idea of a story called "The Anatomy of Power". It is about a kid who grew up in the slums, and whose mother named him "King". She raises him to believe that he is truly a king, altought, it is not meant to be explained what that means exactly. I wanted whoever was reading to come to their own conclusions. What does it mean to be king? What does it even mean to be anything at all? Meaning is attached to value, and we anchor a lot of our values to the real world. We come to believe that our own meaning is derived from how much we can impact the real world. Is that really the case? It often is. Is it on truly meaningful ways? Who knows. I wanted the story to be set in a world where the sun died out and sources of light were incredibly sought-after. I wanted King to come with a solution to this problem for everyone and have humanity tear him apart because of his service to them, and him, in turn, turn them apart too. As a bit of comedic fun I wanted to make King lose one eye, because there is a saying in Spanish that goes: "in a kingdom of blind people, the one-eyed man is king" (link: 'Return.')[(goto: (history:)'s last)]

The road to the left looks very simple indeed. Just a straight line. As a matter of fact, you can't even spot any irregularities at all in the terrain. The whole landscape is the same 100 meter stretch repeated ad-infinitum. Looks like this might be boring, do you still want to take it? the road to the [[right]] looks a lot more interesting. This might be a product of your own [[imagination]]

The path to the right looks very winding, full of twists and turns. In the distance you can spot some sharp cliffs and a mountain that rises above the clouds. This might be a difficult, long trip. Do you still want to take it? The road to the [[left]] looks much more straightforward. This might be a product of your own [[imagination]]

You look down but there is nothing but the ground. The sign must be right. There's got to be something down there. You can [[dig]] or you can go [[left]] or [[right]]

You have nothing to dig with but your own hands. You [[use]] them.

Many hours have passed. You are tired. The sign must be right. There's got to be something down. Why would it say down if there's nothing down? You're already too invested into this to go back. You are commited to this. What would it say about you if you quit? What would that make of you? You must [[keep digging]]. The sign has to be right.

<audio loop autoplay><source src="https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/yumenikki/images/a/a6/SYA_sfx.ogg/revision/latest?cb=20120116205122" type="audio/ogg"></audio> <span class="pulse-in">|2>[] |3>[] |4>[] |5>[] |6>[] |7>[] |8>[] |9>[] (live: 2s)[(replace: ?2)+(t8n:"dissolve")[Your hands are bloodied.]] (live: 5s)[(replace: ?3)+(t8n:"dissolve")[Your body is too spent.]] (live: 8s)[(replace: ?4)+(t8n:"dissolve")[It screams for you to stop, but you carry on anyways.]] (live: 11s)[(replace: ?5)+(t8n:"dissolve")[You dig until you can see the white of your bones.]] (live: 14s)[(replace: ?6)+(t8n:"dissolve")[Vultures fly over you.]] (live: 17s)[(replace: ?7)+(t8n:"dissolve")[They see.]] (live: 20s)[(replace: ?8)+(t8n:"dissolve")[They know.]] (live: 23s)[(replace: ?9)+(t8n:"dissolve")[You are [[down]].]]</span>

You look at [[yourself]]. Whatever you are, you're [[alive]]. That much is certain. What other conclusions you make about yourself? Is it not enough that you [[exist->Stars]]? Ever think about the fact that everything we've ever known is stored on this dirt ball floating in space? I mean, you haven't left the stratosphere, or have you? So many years, so many people. Everything has touched the same dirt ball. You and [[me]] are not so different. Oh, but we're also so much apart.

Who are [[you]] anyways? Hey, there is something I sometimes wonder about. Why do you care so much about what others think about you? When you think about others, do you think that they think about this too, or do you care more about how they see you? Do you see them when you see them, or do you see your own reflection? What are others to you anways? If others are you, what does it matter who you are? Does it matter?

It certainly is pretty darn weird that we even exist. What are the chances anyway? The universe is so large we can't even properly wrap our heads around it's vastness. Have you ever sat down to contemplate the universe in a realistic scale? It's freakishly huge. And yet here we are. Not only that! The circumstances behind life in our planet are so strange, I don't mean to say there's got to be an explanation, there certainly is a reason, I don't pretend to know it, but all things considered the odds of life happening at all is so low if you consider the rest of the universe. Any yet here we are. But the weirdness doesn't end there. The course of evolution followed a path that created a being that was able of being "intelligent" to the degree of creating complex tools like the device you're reading this from. Even more! Before your conception, millions of eggs were discarded and somehow you were there at the right time, at the right moment. Pure chance! It is nothing but pure chance that we're here! The odds of being born at all are lower than winning the lottery, or all the lotteries! And yet, we're all so miserable sometimes. Some, even all the time. This whole thing is pretty darn weird. [[You're so weird.->you]] You're a complete anomaly at a universal scale.

It's [[dirt->Stars]]. Are you sure it's dirt? What makes you sure it's dirt? What if someone else said it's not dirt? What if someone you don't care about says it's not dirt? What if someone you care a lot about says it's not dirt? What if two million people said it's not dirt? What if the whole world says it's not dirt? You know it to be dirt, yet the sentiment is not shared. Are you right? Are they wrong? What is this dirt anyways? Where is it? What dirt?

Have [[you]] ever thought about what's the meaning of life? Me, I think it's completely meaningless. Absolutely devoid of any purpose. When I was a kid I used to think about it. The vast darkness, the void. It was so immense, and so meaningless. It truly was a crushing feeling. I wanted to make it vanish, shed a light on it. I realized that for a lot of people beliefs are that light, they carry that lantern into the darkness and paint it with their own colors. No matter how little or how much do you believe. All of us have colors with which we paint this black canvas. I think when we look at the void we're looking at that canvas. Beliefs... When rushed and forced, when accepted out of fear. I have a feeling we stain that canvas, it is so precious after all. It rules how we navigate our lives, and we only got so little of it. We should be careful about the colors we pick and what we paint with them. Also, and most importantly, we're free to choose any colors and paint with them any way we please. There's no meaning to anything, so we're free to [[create]] our own.

I wonder what's the deal with people who change too fast. Is it for real, or are they just putting on another [[mask->void]]?

<audio loop autoplay><source src="https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/yumenikki/images/4/49/BGM_013-50.ogg/revision/latest?cb=20120116201135" type="audio/ogg"></audio> <span class="pulse-in"> (alert:"Please make it stop") (t8n: "flicker") + (transition-time: 2s)[[[Ä̷̶͙͎̞͙́̄̅ͩ̌̓̆̀̀ͪ̌͂sͣͮ̉ͤ͆̄̋ͩ̾̄̽ͬ͊̚҉҉̴̸̛͚̼̫̤̙̪̞̭̩̣̩̺͓ͅ ̧͇̩͓͎̌ͧ̋̽̅́̿͗̈́ͯ̓̑̍̓ͦ̔̓͞͠͡m̷̴̱̠͔̲̜͉̜̖͇͚̜̙̮͓̲̝ͮ̓ͬ̆͂̄́͒͆͑̅̏ͯ̊̅̑̾̇̚͝u̸̷̖͕̗̞͎̠̩̮̖̩͕͍͆ͬ̃̓̓͌ͮͫ̇̓̅̏̑͢ͅc̆̀̂́̎͑ͨͥ҉̛͎̜͔̦̳̭̞̺͉̯͓̯͖̫̜̠ͅḩ̢̢̻̮̩̞͇̬̰̝̼̻̘̰̖͓͎̤ͣ̈́̅̓̐̈́͛ͯ͑ͫ͗ͣ̉͜ ̇ͯ̑̎̔̍́ͫ́͛̒̀҉̨̛̠̹͙̯̥̱̯̀ą͇̝̣̮̰̗̳̮͇̇ͮ̽́͢͜͞s̛̥̣͍̞͓̰̞͕͐̓̾͒ͫ͘͢͜͝ ̛͖̮͍̱̭͍͉͓͍̦̣͖̫͇̘͇̘ͯ̇͛̽̽͂ͯͣ͊ͭ̃̓̍̚͘ͅͅy̶͈̯̝̥̐͊̉̀͐ͩ̓̏͒̏̉ͪ͐͟͝͝o͙̼̰͖̮̖̣̜̦̝͈̲̦͈̮̥̮ͤ͑̔̿ͫ̌̾̉ͦ͒̽́͘͡ṵ͇̤͓̪͙̪̞̳ͪͭͮ̄̇ͫ̓͆͒̆̀̀̚͢ ̗̞̜̜̠̮̩̙̰̜ͩͫ̎ͯ́͢w̔̀̏͒͑ͫ̀̓ͣ͂̃ͭ̋͗̿̃̈́̚͏̶̻͉̠̹̗̤̖̗͍͕̰̻̘͖a̢̡͇̹͎̲̮̫͚̥͓̰̣͂̊ͤ̊̉͋̓ͯ͛͌ͦ͒ͭ͟ṉ̨̛͎͖̳̠̻̫͓͉͚̙̞̝̮̥͙ͫͦ̓͛̇̿̔̍̒̿̇̍͌͆̕͢ͅṫ̷̫͈̪̤̘̺͖͙̫͉̩͕̖͔́͒̓̎̒̈́ͩ̏ͅͅ ̷̨ͭ̐̒̿̍̋́ͬ́҉̶̰̯͍̰͔ͅt̡̜̭͈͔̯̓ͩ̓̽ͧ͐ͣ͋͂̐̐ͫ̈͋̇̽̀͒͝o̵̗͖͕͓͚ͯ̒̑̆̽ͪͦͪ͂̉ͯ̿̀̀̕͠ ̷̴̵͓͕͉̙̭͉̫̫͕͓̦̰͆ͣ̒ḑ̴̶̧͓͔̭̰͔̙̗̜͈̦ͦͬ̔̑͛̽ͯ͐͊̉͗̎̇ͮ͜e̴̸͗ͧ̇̄ͬ̎ͤ͂̆ͤ̋͡͏͔̯͎̖̠̭̰͕̝͓̙̰̥̻̦̺͕̱̘́n̆́͆ͯͮ͝҉͕̫͎̭̘͖̞̖̠̝̲̼̠̮̖͖̯̟̻͝y̸̫͓̤̰̰̐̌͛ͬͩ̒́̆̇̈ͣ͢ ̢̧̬͕͔̞͓͇͙̫͔̳͕̞͈̈́̉ͨ͊̽͐̎͋ͨ͑̍ͧͥ͛îͭ̒̒̉̀̑͞҉̧̻͙̯̝͎͓͍̥̦ţ̵̢̗̭̼̫̻͍̩ͯͣ̈́ͭ̌͑̐͊ͭ̋̍̆̆̄̈̄͟͝.̋ͣ̀ͣͬͨͪ̓ͮ̏҉̨̝̩̙̬͉̼̗͍̲̮̺̭̞̩̪̕͟͝ ̘͙͙̲͓̳͙̻̪̗͖̞̱̱͕̟͆ͤͪ̂͟͞A̷̵̮͕̞͉͙͍̦̖͑̐̋ͥ͗̓̈̄̑ͧ̉ͤ̍ͫͬ̀ͩͅs̴̵̛̠̥̜̣̻͕͔͙͕̯̳̾ͫͦͧ̉̋̿͒ͭ̂ ̴̷̵̲̹̝̼̠̭̺̣̰̝̬̻̖̲̰̣̮̓͂́̍̀͆͊̌ͣ̒͊́̑͌̀͡m̨̛͙̘͓̞͈ͭ͑ͨ͗̾̾̍̆̋̓u͐̍ͪͤ̿̕҉̜̙̭̰͎̘͎ç̘̪͓̖̙̫ͧ̅͂̂̀ȟ̶̟̭̖̱͖͓̲̝͔͉̥͙̖̭͖̭̮̗̠̑ͭ̐ͪ̔͂̊ͫ̂̚ ̢̧̩͓͇̟͈̻͔̰̩͎͈̙͔͙ͦͮ̈́͒̓ͩ̿́̍̿̾̎̄ͯ̈́ͥͯ͐ͅa̴͎͇̼̠̓͒̈́̈̂̊̅ͯ͂͗̉͟s̶̢̹͈͇̫̹͍̬͕̬̲̼̦̲͈͂͋̀ͥ̆ͣ̃̅̈̈́͋̏̂ͮͦ̇͘ ̸̛̳͈̝̺̱̖͙̭̼̖̻̤̫ͭ͌ͮ̌͐̓̿̈́̈ͩ̽ͯ̿̚͢͠y̶ͥͦ̃͒́̒̽̆ͪ̍̎͊̂͑͊̚͞͠͏̱̻͍̟̬o̵̓̓͌̒͒̍̌ͫ̊̈͌̍ͯ̂ͥ͢͝͏̪̯̩͖̭̖̭͉̻̺̞̜̺̥̻̖͚̙̻ụ̶͍̤̬̬͍̟͓̯̦͖̭̰͈̣̘̘̍̉̾̀̓͡ ̢̢̬̦̩̥̞̥͙̳̯̤͈͌́̎͌̄͘͡w̵̸̢̛̼̰͎̻̬͖̲͕̙̠̲͇̭̟͎̏͐̃̓̂͛̀̃̕ͅa̒ͩ̄ͮ̄̾ͦ͆ͯ̂̈́̓̽͊͆́̚҉̸͟҉͚̩̗̝̣̠͇͈̺̭̠̦͈̲͎̹̻n̨̄͋͊̌͑͘҉̸̡̙̥̪̣̺̜̣̙̫̫ṯ̨̙̥͙͇̦̳̬̝̻͎͍̞̞̆̅̅ͣͣͫͧ͒̒̓̎ͯ͌ͩ͒ͤ͠ ̡̨̨̛̹̝̬̗̮̰̭̯̺̬̭͍͒̍ͯ̓͑̑̃̄̔͗ͧ͂̔ͨͯͦ̈́t̿ͧͤ͒͌̔̉ͤ̾̊ͪͨͨ͂̊͋ͫ̚͏̶̷͇̞̰̤͔̭͔̬͓̞͕͇͙̙o̡̨̻̩̙̼̬̞̬̼̪̯͌ͥ͂̄͐̏͌̒̅̂͂̆̂ͭ͒ͥ̂̂̀̚͜͡ͅ ̛͕̪̗̰̣̼͙̦͔̗̬̭ͩ̑͊̑̎ͭ̌̀͜͢f̋̎ͬͪ͌̚҉̞͖̻͇̖͜͠͞ǒ͖̰͓̭̺̠͕̱͗ͣͦ̃͢ṙ̶̴̞̫̯̤͉͚͙͈͎̺ͭ͊̾͊͋͂́͟͝g̷̴̣̩̖̘̘͎̺͎͍̣͔̼̥̲͓̣͍̩̫̽ͩͥͬͣ̌ͣ̓ͬ̎ͣe̶̸̟̯̦̬͇̙̤̙ͦ̊͋̈́ͧ̓ͧ̒ͭ̉͑̇̂̆̍ͦ̚͘t̯̹̣͈́͛͛͆̿̔͗̾̍̎ͭ͗͛̂ͣ͑̄́̚͢͜͝ ̍͗͛̽̌̃̾ͧͮ̍ͥ̀͘͟͏͈̟̮̹̪̥͇̝̦͍̬͕͓̤̳̥ȁ̴̴̈́ͥ̔ͪͩͫ̇͆̿̀ͦͦ̆̅͑͋͜͢͏̞̙̝̭̪̰b̧̛͑̽͆̉̀͠͏͖̘̘̳̣͍͚͖̙ͅo͒̔̍ͩ͗͌̈̓̌̐҉̸̷̶̧͓͕̣̘̜̯͍͎͉̪̣ͅu̼͚͚̫̦̖̩̱̦̦̱͑ͦͥ̄ͫͭͯ̈́̍͡͝͝t̶̷̶͎̜̘͖͎͕̭̰̖̣̭̙̝̖͕̺̘̠̽ͨͣ͒̃̚͘ ̢̠̺̖̯͇͔͈̪̳̼̤̭͔͍͈͉͑ͩ̃ͨ̓̈́ͥ̒̍̽͐̌̃̿̌ͨ̕ͅi̭̤͇̳͎̹̗̪͙̪͇͖̺̼̺ͬ̾ͪͣ̇̾ͬ̐̈ͫ̃̓ͥ̐̔͆̇͘͘͝ťͤ͛͌̒̓́҉̢̝̙̝͓̼̬̼̟.̷̷̸̛̙͕̭͎͇̱̭̞͚̺̖͈̦̮͙̪͉̃ͣͬͥ̓ͪ̽̆ͫ͐̈́́̋̍ͯ́̚ ̘̙͉͚̞͍̣͉̙͙̙̣̲͙̪̠̻͈̿ͭͭ̓͊̅͆ͪ̎̀͢͟͟I̴̡̧̤̺̺̫̞̪̭̲̺̼̭̹̤͑͐ͣ̅̀͒͒͛ͮ͗̊̄̊̕t̨̧͖̫͉̳͔̙̺̞̾ͣͧ̔̓͐ͤ̈́ͪ̈ͤͅͅ'̴̩͈͓̲̪̦̼̦͕̻̰͈̘̼̭ͫͯ̽̂̋ͣ̽̑̍̆̇ͭ̚͞s̴͖̼̭͍̟̦͙̹̟̠̥̪̟̃ͭ͌̏͑͂͂̅̋͛̀̽̈́̌̒̒͐͒̀͘͝ ̸̢͉̼̜̱̤̰͓̎̽̋̿ͦ͛ͥ̈́̃̅̑ͫ̔̈́́i̵̛͈̤̩̣͈̳̖̰͕̘̣͍̲̯̜͉̅ͤ̈ͧ̍ͦ̀́͡ņ̶͙͇͇̬̠̤̻̿̽͊̓ͮͪ̓͛̍ͭ̿̕s̶̶̛̠͚͎͓̳̞̬̱͔̲̞͖̼̅̂̋̎͟͠ḭ̴̣̱͚̦͖͕ͯ̋̓ͦ̿͆ͤ͛ͯd̢͉͚̞͚̱̥̮̰̓̑̿ͫ̓ͮ̌ͤ̀͟ͅę̂ͫ͐̓̎͆ͣͫͯ̈́̍ͪ͂͑̈ͦ̚͏̴͚̜̮͉̘̞̺̰̤̠̀ͅ.̶̮͇͔̟͙̘̼̩̤̮̣ͭ̿̉̉ͪͩ̅̑͑ͧ ̴̺̖͓̯̅͊ͩ͊̏̐̄̀͊̿ͩ̄̚D̡̙̝̟̘̫ͩ̒̐̈̓̅̅́̉ͦ̌̌̅̀͢͠ȩ̨͇̠͔̘̝̺̰͙̝͚͖͈̭̳̝̥̹ͨ̔̃͑̂̃ͬ̾ͯ̌̂̐̕e̷̡̍̍̄̂̂͊ͦ̅ͨ́ͧ҉̖͍̞̹̼͙̭̩̳̹̝̮́p̦͙̱̝̮̟̗͍͒͊̾ͪ̂̉̅̅̉ͭ̂̉ͫ̓ͣ́̚͟ ͌ͥͭ̏͆ͦͤ͂̊̽̉͗̂̃͐̚̚҉̡̼̣̞͓̻̪̥͓ͅì̸͍̥̝͕̫̲̮̯̪̭͕̗̫͉͇̯ͣ͑̑͒̔̓ͪ̈́ͬ̂ͥ̕͟͠ṇ̵̙͉̺̰͇͓̏ͫ͊̄̽ͬͣͯ̓͘͟͠͡ṡ̡̢̛̖̬̱̟͖̩̘̖̤ͥ̓̈́̀ͬ̍̀ͥ́̂ͩ̈́̾̒ͨ̚̚͞ï̵̸̷̞͚̖̩̥̲̳̲̈́͒͌̾̄ͣ̇ͬ̐̆̂ͪ̿ͦ͌ͬ͢͟d̸̸̶̛͍̮̝̥̩͒̓ͭͬ̓ͦ͗͋ͨ͋̒̊ͥ̅͛ͦ̈́͢e̼͔̥̟̙͓͍̙̭͈͂̑͂ͨͨ͂̋͢͠͠ ̷̜̼̻̣͎͓̬͎̖̮͕̖͕͉̟͆ͮ̿ͤ͛̌̈̄ͬ͑̍̉ͧ̄̎̑̾ͩw̶͔͚̝̻̫̱̰̘̣̲͉͙̠̞͕̰̓̈́̿͑̀̑̎͗̇̄ͮͩͩ̈́ͅe̐̆̿͌̒̽͜͡͏̛͙̭͖̭̹̗͈͔̹̜̱̥̫͢ ̀͐͐̓̑͛ͣͬ̎̋̚͏҉͔̟͖͍̙͞ą̷̴̰̺̭͇̻͎̗̜͍͇̼ͥ̐̌͗͌ͦl̵̠̝̝̲̭̰͖̞̠̯̠̼̗̫̑̔̀ͧ̃̄̇͒͊ͅl̖̫͍̟̺̠͍ͯ̐̇̔͑̍̾̊̋͝ͅ ̷̨̮̲̪̙̳̬̺̙̩̑̄͒͐̒͊͝ć̈̌͗͛̇̍̊́̀̈́ͦ̓̌̍ͩ͘҉̢͇̳͈̪͙̰̺̪̱̮̫͢a̢̾͗͆ͤ̿̏͏̬̹̝̻͎͎̕r̸̶̳̜̠̭͓̺͔͎̰̥͍͍̞̳̤̜̜̞ͨͯͫ̌̋̋ͣͪ̃̅̍ͦ́̾͆̋ͩ̚̚͡ͅr̸̵͈̠̘̖̼ͩͪͤ̏ͨ̔ͥ͛́̑̀͑͋ͥ̾̚͠ͅy̨̠̼͔͖ͦ̑ͤͫ̊̃̀͘͡ ̛͉̘̱͚̙͕̱̳͓͍̹̼̥̥̖̤̹ͤͫͯ̓ͪ̇̎ͥͤ̓̆͗ͧ͌ͨ̓͘ͅt̾̇ͫ̑͒̓̇̈́͌̆̚҉͜͏̸̣̖̦͚͍̞̪͜ͅḫ̨̡̛̘̼̺̝̩̹ͩ̑͗̍ȩ̨̱̩̻̹͙̝͈̩̠͚̣̙̞̜̰͙ͨͮ̑̀ͧ̍ͥ̀̓̾̃̑̎͂͠ ̴̺̭̳͍̗͈̙̜̝̲͙̖̜ͬͭ̓̏͋̓͌̌̃͛̈͐͑ͦ̄͛́̚̚gͯ̃ͣͧ̇̿ͧͮ̾̐ͭ͊̎́ͮ̋͆̕͡҉͎̻͓̩͉͈͇͉̻͇̯̥̫ͅą̊͊̓̏̈́ͪ҉̝͕́͞͠ͅt̮̤̯͙͓͖̲̄̓̀ͮͧ̈̓̍ͨ͒ͪ͋͋ͭ̔̍̊̚͞ͅě̴̷̎̈́̍̋̊̊͝҉̞̫͚͉͙̥̩͚̱̼̞̮̠̦̲̕ͅͅͅsͥ̑͛̓ͩ̆̀ͫ͌͒͗ͤͬ̂̑͟͏̱͔̼͔̪̫̯̙͇͡ͅͅ ̧̧̣̜̤͎̤̟̦̫̫̝̤̎ͪ̍̅͟ͅo̷̳͔̦̳͉͎͎̘̺̽͊̀͂̎̓͂̌ͤ̆̈́́̿͌͂́f̷̵̵̥͇̣̤͍̬̳̮̤̬̈́̐ͮͯ̈́͂̌ͅ ̸̢̛͙̬̲̪̗̤̱͎̹̜̥̯̻̳̜ͭ̂ͥ̅ͥ̾̅̂̒͊̿ͭ̽͜ͅh̨̭̟͚͓̝̜͙̫̼̬̑̎ͬ̎ͯ̌ͪ̏̽̅̒̾̿͑̄̌ͬ̓͝e̵̷̴̡̨̮̜̙̹ͨ̊̈́ͥ̀̒ͤ̈̈́̽ͪͯ̂̒̍̀ͯ̏l̴̢̧̳̦̗̝̹̦̘͈̱͔̱͇̞͇̪̠̄̉̉ͯ͘ͅļͥ̇̽͛̅́̔̿́ͮͧ̂ͪͧͤ̈́̓ͧ̚҉̻̤̼͓͉͓͕̞̫͕̟̹ͅͅ.̷̢̻͎̘̩̥͇̳̰͔̰͓̫͑ͤͧͩ̈́̆͑̔̾ͣ̏̓̉ ̴̠͇͖̦̼͈̰̣̲͇̣̦͉̠ͦ̇̈ͧ͘͠W͉͎̲̲̭͉̤̠̼̓̅ͮ͘͜e̵̳̭̼̺͔̠̼̤̞͕̥̝̼̭͔̞ͮ̌̉ͧ͆͌̀̚͞ͅ ̨̨̧͓̭̞͖̗̹͇̬͓̱͎͍͉̥̝̜̰͍̮ͣ̇͂̒̏͛ͨ̀͠a̡̲̖̤̰ͭͧͫ̾̀̓́ͮ͋͌ͨ̄͡l̷̛̳͚̯̜̝̰̥̼̻͙̘̫ͣ̈ͨͩ̍ͨͣͯ̽͋̍̿̈̿̿w̶͂ͬ̍͛́͑̄ͤ̐ͫ̍̍̃ͫ͋͏̞̬̣̞͕̣͉̯̬̹̭̜̥̞͎̮͍a̸̸̙̩̤̖͖͍̲̮͎͕͓̭̦̰ͩ̀͛̌͋̂̽ͅy̧̩̜͖̭̞͔̫͋́̄̓̊͘͜ş͎͉̣̦ͥ͗̂̃̉̔̅̋̈̊̾͋̍̒̚͡͝ ̶̧̛͎̻̮̲͇̣̰͇͙͚̦͎̫̬̗̜̒ͭ̊ͧ̓̕͜ç̘̮̤̳̝̩̠̘͚̝̭̤̥͇̯ͫͩͯͤ̃̓͂̆͒̀͒ͭ̑͋̎͗ͦ͘a̸̷̴̩̲̖̦͎̥̤̝͍̮̤̻̹̤͍͑̀̅͛͗̈́̏ͬͣ̀̏̓̀́r̴̷̠͕͉̭̞̦̤̪̗͑̇ͮͮ̎̒̍ͫ̑ͩͭ̉ͤ́͝ŕͦ̎̏̅̀͏̵̙̬̺̞̭̦͖͍͚̪̙͟y̶̟͎̤̟̝̱̮̱͙ͧ̔ͩͫ̄̂̋ͤ̉͟ ̙͉͈̱̿̑ͪ̇̓̓͛̓͆͊̿͞t̶̖̣̮̘͍͙̬̜͈̠ͬ͐̎̐̉̎͊̅͗͐̾̾̽̾ͪ̇̋͟͡ͅh͓͉͙̪͙͉͚͓̜͖͕̗͎̩̤̳̊͗̃̍̄̑̽̕ͅͅēͪ̿̾̊͗̔ͮͣ͌ͨͪ̌͠҉̤̘̬̺̫̯͍̺͕̼̙͘ ̡̝̤̣̘̱̹̙̭͚͎̟̳̹̝̲̽̊͗̊̀̽ͩ́̚͢ͅͅk̟̤̼̥̏̍́͒͊ͣ̓̉̂̈́̃ͧͥ̓̚̕̕e̷̢͕̝͇̗̭͙̠̙̰̙̰ͫ̒͌͊̓̐̎̉̑͗ͫ͋̉̔ͤ́͘͟͝y̵̡̫̮̙̤̖̖̋̀̎͋̕͢.̴̸̥̩̫̣͌̎̎̐̊̅ͮͯͭͤ̾ͤ͒̇́͠ ̆̏̈́ͧ͒ͩ̿̓̎́̾͜͝҉̧̰̪͍͈̘̻͓͕̥M̴̷ͤ̇͐ͬ͗ͤ͂ͪ́ͫ̀ͥ̕͏͖̠̱̫o͙̥̰̪̣̪̣̝͒ͤͩͧ͐ͥ͐̓̾͋͜ͅͅs̢͚͔͕̲̫͎̜ͩ̂ͨ̇̿̀ͦ̈ͦ̇̅̂̄́̔͟t̶̯͍̮̪̳̹͙̥̿͗̎ͧͤ̄ͪ̎ͤ̐ͪͣͨ̏̌̚ ̸̡̧̬̼͓̖̪̞̤̝̹̩̬̓̒ͮͬ̌ͧ̀̾̾͜ͅo̷̢̠̻̝̰̤̞̦̩͋ͯ̒̇̒̊̓̓ͫ̔ͥ͐́͝f̟̰̖͇̖̖̗̳̯̱̃ͩ͋̓̏̓ͩ̍̌ͣ͋̍̃̊͐ͨ̄͆͒͞͠ ̶̘̥͍̲̼̑̿̈́̽ͫ̎̀͝ų̷̶͙̫̱̩͕̞̙̘̝̱̪͙͍͔͇͖͔͋̋̋̀́͋̒̓́ͪͭ͒̈́ͬͬͯ̈́̚ͅs̷̢̅̿̽̑̑͐͊̀͊͏̶̨̣̤̭͕̝̩͉̮͍͙̗̰̙ ̛̟̠͓̭̗͉̫̯̱̮͕̙̿͐͛̇͂̾ͣͦ̓̀ĥ̷̵̝̘̫̮̺̫͉̙͖̘̩̦̼̪̱͙͍͍̣̆̆̊̔̐͆ͫ͐̓͂̎̅̚̚͟͠ȧ̡̝̞̠̠̭̦̟̺͇̲̗̇̌ͭ͌͆̀̀͟͡v̷̧̥̱̣̲̯̬̯͈̣̠͈̠̳̗̳ͦͩ͊̐ͣͯͫ̔͞ͅe̓ͤͣ̌̃҉̨̧҉̼̳̥͚̦̟͚̼̬̹͖̖̯̟͚̳̠̀ ̸̨͉̠̟̮̱͖̿̎̆͛ͣͬ̌̐̓ͮͯͬͧ̚͜p̢̼̖͍͓̗̗̰̳̗̓͐̉̈̌́͜͢ẽ̵̯͍͙̘̗ͤ̑͛ͭ̑̏ͣͩ̓̽ͣ͊͐͒́̚̕͝͞ȩ̛̼̤̼̲̝͖͖̝̪̅̈́͐͆̀̍ͪͮ̃͋̃̅ͫ͆͞k̸̢̛̲͎͔͎ͬ̈́ͮ̒͒̍ͮ̏̅̄͑̂ͤ̋̆̚̚͢͞e̷ͭͬ͊͑̔͊ͭ̽ͨͭͮ̊̽ͣ͐̇̊͐́̚҉̩̳̤̫͕̭ḑ̶͔͕̜͙̖̞̺͖̪͖͓͍̙̼͚̙̲̖ͪ͂̓͗́ ̴͂ͧͨ͌͒̋̿͛̈ͣ͊̑ͯ̽ͭ͢͝҉̢̦͓͈̞͓̟͚̞͙͕͙̩̩̝i̵̐͋̐ͮ̿ͭ̽̏ͣ͢͠҉͕͕͔̯̼͍̝̪̟͙̺̫̣̠͈̺̫ṋ̵̢͚̬̠̠̫̬̻̠͙̝̱̯͕͍̭̇̆̀̐͛̎ͩ͐ͩͬͧ̊̓ͣ͒ͦ̃ͨ̍ṱ̛̹̻̲̉͑̑ͣ̊͋̐̃͐͛̓͒͑͢o̸̺̠̟̳̼̖͙̦͔͎͎̮̹̞̩̪͑ͣ͗͒̈̌͗ͨ̀̀͢ͅ ̶̶̧̺̭͈̣̹͖͙͓͈̰͙͕ͫͮ͒ͧͨ͑̍̇͂̋ͣ̽ͯͅi̢̛̩̱̪͍͇̰̣̫͙̝̔̓ͩ̔ͥ̽̆̈́ͥ̑̒̌ͪ͊̽̕͘͟ͅͅt̸̰͕͚̺̳̤̮͙̳͈͐́̿ͯ͛́'̛͖̞̼̱̺͐ͧ̊ͫ͑́̽̒͊̔́ͫ̌̈̒̂̓͢͡s̵̡͉̦̻̬̜͔̼͖͉̹͓̝͈̜̥̱͙̼̔ͬ̓̉̆͋͘ ̧͚̪͓̜̪͖͕͚̇̊ͮ̈ͩ̔̅̇͒̽̑̓͐́̚͡d͑ͭ͐ͮͪ̽ͫ̈́͌̂̓ͫ̚͏͢҉̥̹͚̫̘̻͈̦͡͝ͅëͪ͆ͣͯͭ͆̍̕҉̢̢͍̣̪̘̩p̶̞͕͉͇̹̝͍͕͇̗ͦ̓͊̊͗̋ͣ̀̾̈ͦ͐͐͂̆͊͟͢ṭ̴̨̳̺̤̖̙͍̹̭̻̹̣̤͓̹̟̖̠ͥ̈͒̊ͩͣ̈̎͊ͯ̌̏̈͟h̡̜͕͉̙̦̣̮̉̉̈́̐ͩͯͫͦ̕͢s̨̛͕̲̪͇͈̤̖̭̤ͮͦ̍̏ͫ́̏͂̈́̊͡.̵̵̶̼̰͈̫̖̯̐̃ͤ̈ͦ̅̓̓̀̔ͬ̍͋́ ̶̣̬͔͚̱̪̱͚̟̜͎̮͎̺͑ͧ̈̓ͥ̑̎̀͜Ş̛͔̝͎̘̲̹̣̰̬̦̼̼̼͉̯ͭͪ̂̓͐́̌̔̃͑ͫ͆̇́ͯͯ͂ͪͧ́͠o̸̧̠̼̩͚̝͚̯̩͍͔̖͎ͮ̉ͭ̎̃̇ͭ͛̊͛ͣͧ͑̆͌m̷̧̬͈͇̦̤̟͇̦̲̥͓͔̰̩̉̔̓ͭ̍̅̒͟e̸̻̣̝̪̼̙̩̭͍̙͕̘̩͙̬͓͆̀̔ͤ̏̓́̋ͩ̾ͯ̓̋͗̈́͢ ̧̛̙͍̯̫͎͖͍̦̜̫̭̦͖̰͔̪ͯ̅͐̒̃̈́ͦ̓̋̑̈́̄̽̈́̑̅ͅĉ̴̢̛̥͍̱͓̰̗̜͈̥͕̠̼̝͑̋̌̊́ơ̸͍̹̗̹͙̞̔͑̉̈́̏̀ͤ͘͟͞m̸̲̘̠͕͕͇̹̝͎̀ͬ̔̑͐ͦ̔ͥ͊ͥ̇̊ͮ͛͟͢e̝̪̫̹̰̙̩̳͌̊ͬ̾͋́͑͘͢ ̴̨̧̞͕͍͓̬͉͉͉̮͎̪̥̫̿̂̌ͧͩ̂͌̐͘͝ͅa̛͎̮̖̝͙̠̺̠̱̹͎̯ͮ͆̍ͭ͝͞n̴͙̗̭͍̲͔͈̟̼̭̺̳͖͍̤̱̠̳͑̉͗̋ͮͧͧͤ̇ͪ͆̕͜ͅdͣ͌ͤ͑̿̏ͩ̿͒͛ͫ̌̐͊͐̂͗̀ͮ҉͏̡͇̳̠̬͎͉͎̲͢͞ ̿̀̿̍̆ͨ̓ͯ̊ͯͧ̔͏҉҉͕̠͉̘̳̹͔̳̗͉̭͓̘͉͍̞͇̹̜ğ̷̶͔͖̫̣̖̩̮̞͉̺͎̝̎̽̆ŏ̡́̍͐̓̑ͥ̍͋̋͆ͫ̌̊̐ͦ҉̛͓͖̪̖̞̗̲̫͟.̛͒ͩ̏ͫ͏̵̳̯̭̞̖͕̗̳͡ ̛̗͍̩̲̹͔̥̗̂ͨ̏̂̈͜͢ͅS̴̝̰̪̖̺͕̻̱̥̳̑̃̃ͣ̈́͋̐ͬ̒́͠͝o̅̈̆̂̓̓ͫ̿ͧ͋̽ͥ͐ͪ̒҉҉҉͞҉̼̥͍͚̣̣̦͍̟̦̳̮̗̹ͅm͆̓̈͑̈̔͏̡̹̪͔̪͘e̫̞̳͔̳̭͇̤̲̱͖̥̲̯͌ͧ͂͐͟͝ ̴̖̤̥̬̗̹̼̭͓̭̫̺̟̝̻̤̯͓̎ͦͯͫ́͜ͅg̵̢͕̰͈̻̦̗̠̺̣̮͚̀͐̂ͫ͜ͅơ̫̖̳̝̗̬͍̬͉̱̱̫̳̺͈ͥ̊ͫ̔ͤ̈́̒̀̒̉ͮͣ̍̀̽̀ ̎̿ͨ͛͗̈́̓̏ͫ͂̓̆̀̉̾͠҉͙͔͉̞̦̗̘͙̹̜ͅi̷̷̿ͦͤ̈́ͫ͐̊̅́̚͜͏̞̣̟͓̱̠̭͎̰̟͎̗̠̗͖n̛̛͈̖̩̠͇̱͖͓̪͕͚͇̞̬̗̥̯͔ͤ̓͑͒̌ͯ̎̈͂͒͊ͥ̇͠͠ͅ ̀ͧ̃̈́̍͑̈́̈ͥͦͪ̏͌ͫ̈́̀͑̈́̚҉͡҉̨͖̣̰̪̟̰͉͔͓̙̭͔̰aͩͣ̇̔̋ͮ̑ͥ̽̇ͬ͌͗͆̂̊ͯ͏̷̨͏͓͔͓͕͔̰̘̗͟ͅň̷͊̃̀ͦ͛̓ͤ̈́̀҉̷̗̞̩̺̜͇͙͙ͅd̡̫̗̲̺̹͚͖̬̲͍̜̆̓͛̇̉̑ͦ͑͛̀͘͢ͅ ̨̛̜̩̦͓͖̫̜̘̲̬̐̔̂ͫ̎̓͆ͅͅͅn̰̳̯̖̲̫̮̳̦̫̮̻̱̲̝̞̰͔̈̓ͨͩ̅ͭ̅̉ͧ̏͠ȅ̈͆̓ͦ͌͂̈̔͑ͦ̈́͗͆̏̚͏͍̮̖͉̬͚͙̣̫̘̪̘͎̬̱̜̠̕̕ṽ̧͇̻̼̗͙̠̲̳̺̤͉͂ͨ̂͛́̔ͧ̊̅͊̿̈́̑̓̿ͧ̓͘͟͟é͒͊̏ͫͩͤ̓̔ͮ͆̒ͣͭ͑̋͏̷̸͔͙͚̞̥̦͚͇͉̺̣͖͍͕r̶̡͇͕͇͇͖̜̤̗͍̜ͤ̌̎ͭ̈́ͬ͌͑ͦ͑͌̐ͯ͊ͬͣͨ͂͠ͅͅ ̵̨͕̙͓̖̣̰̰̘̅ͧ̎̂ͣͯ͢͝͞r̶̷̹̲̦̬̩̗̼̭̎͌ͫͫͤ̾ͣ̒̃̑̓̽e̳͇̮̹͓͇̰̤̥̬͚̭̲̟̲͚̺͖̓̊͑̍ͧ͐̈́͋ͥ̋ͤ̋̊̐̊̊̀ͥ̀̚̕̕͜ͅt̢̽ͨͦ̇ͤͥ̓ͥͪ͗͏̗̗̯͢͢ͅu̵̳̦̝͍̝̲̠ͧ̑͆ͪ͗̆ͣ̅̐̎̿͆̄̍̎͂̽́͜r͕̬̤͍͈͕̣͓̟̖̲͐̎̒̈́̃̓́͜n̷͕̮̗̬̦̉̀̃ͮͧͩͨ͌ͬ̆̉͒ͧ̓̍ͥ͢.̶̵̨̘͖̮̟̂̊ͦ̎̊̌ͧͩͮ̈ͪ̅ͬ͡ͅ ͦ̾͐ͮ̏̊̍̒ͦ̿͂̊̆̒͆́̂͏̷̘͔̠̻͇̟͓̙̫̟̳̭͝T̶̷̶̨̻̰̜͖̠̦̰̞̮̲͔̠̪̯̹̗̻̾̃̎̋ͮ̓̎̊͐̚͡h̷̡̢̧͖̗̘̘̝̣̬̭ͮ͒ͪ͊̓̏͌̕e̶͐̏ͥ͛̀͐ͯ̅ͤ̿̀͢͝҉̥̘̩̲̬̘̟̞͇̳̭͍̖͈̯͍ͅͅ ̵̳̝̙̜̭̘̻͛͊ͥͬ̓̒ͯͥ̒̌ͦ̂̀̚̕͢b̢͙̗͔̥̮̻͓͔͚͙̥͕̪̖̟̳̜̳͌̿̌ͥͮͪ̒̿ͫ̉ͩ̑͌͝͞l̎̌͊͆ͫ͋ͬ̾̿͏͏̢̛̻͓͕̟͉̠̤͕̤̤͔͈̭̹̯̞̩͍ǫ̵̧̝̝̞̳̭̰͚̰͎͔͖̘̣̘ͮͦ͋̽̈͊̂̽̈́̾̑̓͝ͅo̷̹͕̫̯̳̺̺̣͕̤̬͐ͬ̅̇̏̔̍͆̽͒ͤ̀̓̀͠͡͝d̵̵̡̝̠͓̮ͪ̇ͫ̂̋̏ͧͬ̃́.̶̯͚̮͓͈͕̿̑̍ͩͬ̀ͅ ̵̽ͮ̆̅͛҉̭̟̮͍͎͕̫ͅT̴̡̮̺̼̫̖̥̦̝̤͚̺̫̯ͦͮ͆͟͝͡h̢̘̫͈̪̄̎͑ͪ̈ͬ͑ͧ̚͘͠ẻ̷̵̓ͦ͊̿͂ͤ̑ͨ͗͟͏̴̲͚̗̯̫͙̮̹̯͓̱̺͈ͅ ̢̞̩͍̼͍̞̥̥̤͙́̏͆͆͐ͥ͑͊ͤ̔̎́ͥ̄̕͞ͅv̯̞͓͍͕̰̂̔̎͒̾̔̏̄͂̓͛̌ͯ͘͟͠i̵̖̺̠͎͈̻̩͎̦̟̱̺̟̝͋̑ͤ͌ͬ̓̿̎̌͗̎̈ͣ̿̈́̓̄̓o̵̸̡̟̮̜̤̝̫͈̥̙̻̗̼̪͔ͫ̍̉́͗͂ͮͪ̒̓̊̀ͅl̷̶̢͚̱͍͖̥͇̰̱̄̍ͮͮ̑ͮ͗ͮ͘͟e̲̮͙̜̬̰̹͚͕̍̽̾̾ͪ͑̽ͯ̀͢͢͠͠n̨̳̞̥̻̯̦͔̤̼̮̣̫͇͇͕̳̩͙͆ͫ̎ͧ͗̽̋͆̄c̛͎͓̦̹͚̬̦̮̮̤̟̾̇͂͊̾͊̌̎ͪ̌̅ͨ̕ȇ̵̡̅̇͆ͯ̉̉̽̔̐̋̊ͧ̅ͥ̈ͥ̊͗҉̯̦̮͙̲̼̖̭̯̝̣̗̞͕͔̠͓͠͞ͅͅ.̡͂̓ͦ̏͂̾̏̆̃̾͆̈ͯͧ̈̚͠҉͈̮̭̥͔̠͚̻͖̗͎̞̞̩̤͍͖ ̷̸̴͙̬͔̗̣͎̓ͧͬ̉ͣͭ̽̎̐͌ͧ͌́́ͅĬ̷̳͖̳̖̗̺͎̰̝̥̖̻ͦ̀͗͆ͤ͒̀̍ͥͯ̽̅̌͒́͢͝͝t̐̋̽ͩ̓̅ͥͦ̄̽͋̇ͤͦ͑̅̆̋͑͏̜̰̳̪͉̩̣̪̖͙̬̖ ̴̨͕̺͎̬̭̗̖͇͆̔ͭ̄̑ͤ͒̀͢ḇ̨̢̣̺̤̟͉̮ͪ̊ͮ̆͐̕͞ͅo̐͐ͬ̍͐̅̌͐̋͑̃̄҉̴̵̡̻͓͎̳̳̱̤͉̯̥͞i̶̍̐͊̋̇̓̃ͣ̌͆̍̆͗̍̈́͆̚҉̛̖͓̼̥͖̥̩̞̯͉͟ͅl̠̩̤̜͔͓̝͙̙͚̳̈́̍͂ͭ̑̽͂͘͜͞ͅs̸̖̣͙̱͍̦̖̤̟͈̙̥̺̦͎̥͊̅ͮ̓̋͒ͬ͆̔ͤͥ͛ͧ̎̓̀ͩ̚͡͠.͂̑ͮͪͥͪ͒̔ͮͬ̿̌͋̇͏̧̭̯̺͉̠̤͇̲̼͕͔̰̮͉̹̞́͟ ->Bird]]]

Entertain me for a moment. Let's pretend that I want you to accept [[me]]. First of all, you have no idea who I am. Second, what does exactly accepting someone even mean? Now, think of someone who you desperately wanted to have in your life, an impossible or unrquited love maybe. The more burning the better. Did you want to accept them, or did you want them to accept you? Which one came first? You, or them? Now, if you don't care about me, of course the idea of accepting me comes under a lot of scrutiny, after all, what's the value that I'm giving in exchange for your acceptance? Love, friendship. All these things are transactions. Now, not all transactions are bad, it's all about getting what we want, and we want good, pure and noble things too. But these are all subject to transactions. Our soul, because it is not perceived as it is, has a market value. The value of our feelings, does it come into the equation? What if I loved you, like no one ever has ever loved you? You, of course, can't see that. We have to demonstrate our value. To be desired, we have to be perceived as valuable. But, what happens if we seek to enrich outselves in ways that would leave us feeling lonely? Do we stay true to our pursuits, or do we adjust our course? Masks. I think this is where they come from. We become peddlers of masks, instead of being what we are.