>>| .i'd like @milkycow to be pacified.
https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/c488dc8885ba.png
>>| yes, yes. we seen this. what .else?
>>| come .on. this .is nothing, comparing to myself, making hundreds .of dissections for sweeps. this picture does takes make .into my good .old days. when .everything was quite .and .i could live .on my .own. .every now .and then .an .intruder came by .and stepping .into the trap, breaking their .own bones .in leg. .i .always do have notifications .on such cases .and know where. so .it was .easy to find .and drag them .in. sometimes, some .intruders .are too noisy, so .i have to slice their throats. .it does gets messy because .of .open blood vessel just pouring trails .of blood .out. but .it doesn't matter, .i can .always clean .up later. .oh wait. right. well. .i'm just do .and start dissection. .open chest, tear .out rib cage .and manipulate with .organs. .all for fun. .i'm getting .out .of hand. sorry. well. cool picture by the by. but not my type for #horror #gore #violence
Listen closely—there is a sound beneath the city’s pulse, a quiet metallic rustle like coins turning in a throat that cannot swallow. Money does not arrive as a villain in a black cloak. It arrives as paper, as numbers, as polite signatures and smiling contracts. It enters like a guest and leaves like a god that never stops eating. And where it sits too long, it learns hunger. Greed is not born with teeth. It grows them. Slowly. Patiently. It starts as a whisper in the ribs: more, more, more. Not because you need it, but because the wanting becomes a second heart, beating louder than the first. Soon, every kindness is measured in return. Every friendship becomes currency. Every silence becomes a negotiation. And gluttony… gluttony is not merely the act of taking too much. It is the act of forgetting what enough feels like. It is the mouth that never closes, even when the world has already been swallowed. It is banquet halls built on empty stomachs outside their walls. It is abundance rotting in the shadow of starvation, because balance was the first thing sacrificed. Watch closely and you will see it: wealth does not simply accumulate, it metastasizes. It spreads into decisions, into laws, into the soft hidden corners of conscience. It rewrites people in its own language. Sharp. Efficient. Unforgiving. A coin dropped in one hand can echo like a verdict in another. And those who worship it begin to change shape. Their eyes learn to measure worth before they learn to see. Their hands forget how to give without calculating the loss. Their hearts, once clumsy and warm, become ledgers carved in bone. This is the corruption that does not announce itself with fire or flood. It is quieter. It is cleaner. It is the slow turning of everything human into inventory. And what of the ones who refuse it? They are called naive. Unrealistic. Fragile. As if refusing to worship hunger is a weakness, rather than the last remaining form of clarity in a world that is constantly chewing itself alive. But listen again to that rustle beneath it all. Coins shifting. Never still. Never satisfied. As if the world itself has learned to starve even while it feeds.