forgiveness is never not a trojan horse

Ah, perfectly imperfect September, how I doth loathe thee something fierce.
I am giving myself perhaps too much time to think, if such a thing is even possible these days. In avoiding proper lodging and sleep in general and employment of any kind I find myself entertaining streams of thought not breeched often enough in my world. Is the snake shedding its skin then, or is the skin shedding its snake? Is self-abasement not the grandest form of Initiative? And how might a one be lonelier than a zero?
Everything exists only to distract us from the fact that nothing exists. Nothing really matters, in the end or otherwise.
Nothing.