/lit/ - Literature

something about the lack of a metaphysical self outside of, or capable of being ""outside"" of or separate from our bodies is what frightens me in a way.

As does the linear nature of time.

A knowledge of human history and how full of suffering it is, not just for the slave but for the souls of the master who abuses them.

how fragile and temporal our bodies are and how we are unable to detach them from the natural world and how much pain and suffering that must've occurred in the past and the present due to these realities. there's a beauty in it but it becomes all so distorted and dirty when you don't allow yourself to be detached from that individual suffering. People losing their fingers and limbs, women dying during childbirth, dysentery and cholera, lifelong limps..

people being crucified, hanged, disemboweled, or burned.
it's all so fucking horrifying it's all so fucking awful.

I look at pic related and I look at my hands and I see in my hands (even when washed) surfaces and grooves covering biological buttons that wire back to my brain, and that they're a part of me just like anything else, and am in some sense grossed out by the idea of flesh and blood and cells and all that stuff, but acknowledge that it's what makes me up.

everything feels like it's just layers of dirt, dust, and other debris, and all so inelegant and prone to indignities on an individual level.