You're a Soul Driving a Meat-Coated Skeleton Made of Stardust

A raw, luminous journey through the small, sharp miracles of being alive. Fueled by the incandescent oddity of magic mushrooms and a steady current of existential dread, this piece steers you across the uncanny landscape where mortality and meaning collide. It’s equal parts hallucinatory hymn and clear-sighted inventory: visions bloom and unravel, old fears are faced with brutal tenderness, and the body is both vessel and comic relief — a meat-coated skeleton stitched from the same stardust that birthed galaxies.

Here, coming to terms with death is not a single revelation but a series of tidal moments: bright, terrifying, consoling. You watch your assumptions melt and reconfigure, learning that dread can be a doorway and that surrender can sharpen the mind. In the end the work offers a quiet, radical freedom — a reminder that while we cannot choose the timing of the end, we can choose the film through which we watch our lives unfold. Thought is the lantern; perspective is the map. Take hold of both, and the cosmos becomes less like an enemy and more like a companion for the ride.