I like to tell myself something. I love to tell too long. To stop my mind from being tired, I keep talking. But I can't get along with myself lately. I keep moving up and down with emotions.
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I find myself in the well that I opened myself. Sometimes I feel in an infinite void, I release myself. I do not do anything. Well, it sounds good, actually.
Sometimes I feel like my body has died of fatigue, when my brain doesn't shut up, someone is punching my brain with a drill, and I'm not doing anything at that time. I'm waiting for the drilling to end. When I wake up, I wonder if I find myself again. I'm having trouble keeping up.
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They offer generalizable judgments in the way of the search for meaning of man. The best example of this situation is to form the basis of ancient Greek thought. It is chaos, which is incompatible and muddled, without the form and order, in which the universe is before its order. In time, this substance turns into a cosmos, a regular universe.
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