S̶e̶a̶n̶’s Reviews > Escapade > Status Update
S̶e̶a̶n̶
is 45% done
I realize now that deep down in everyone is an instinct of being, unaffected by the values which consciousness imposes. This being is impersonal, undefined, a mere gesture which asserts life and takes no account of obligation or consequence. I want to be saved from myself, from the terrible self from which all my secondary life proceeds, the self which goes with closed eyes toward its own end.
— Sep 22, 2025 03:37PM
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S̶e̶a̶n̶’s Previous Updates
S̶e̶a̶n̶
is 77% done
Evening. On the virginal mountain there is a glow like the blooming of heavenly hyacinth in a dark, dark field. My own warmth goes out of me with the light. I am as cold as the shadows, I am chill denial, chaos again, the unnamed thing.
— Sep 25, 2025 08:18AM
S̶e̶a̶n̶
is 50% done
Realizing that, of necessity, an ill person is unsexed, I try to wring a cold mental harmony out of life, but, instead I find myself sucked inward, my intellect smothered as by a voluptuous and nauseating rhythm. What I most long for is to be able not to desire anything, for I think of all life as gradually and eternally becoming nothing.
— Sep 23, 2025 12:22PM
S̶e̶a̶n̶
is 30% done
The love of those among whom one has been reared is usually not love at all. One can die inwardly without any of them being aware of it.
— Sep 21, 2025 08:27AM
S̶e̶a̶n̶
is 27% done
I feel sometimes as if Death were holding me softly in a feathered palm, feeding me with the white blood of sorrow. And I think of a lost bird flying toward a gray horizon it will never reach, above the broken mirrors of marshes and the gray fur of reeds, endless!
— Sep 21, 2025 08:14AM
S̶e̶a̶n̶
is 12% done
The heat was the visible expression of a terrible silence, a silence in which the cracked voices of the old women were as irrelevant as the discordant notes of far-off birds. A stasis of life had created a vortex of intensity, a stillness into which life poured itself with the vividness of death.
— Sep 18, 2025 07:19AM
