My past self would gaze upon my current self and laugh the laugh of the abyss. The same abyss that once gazed back but found nothing new to consume. What is time but the eternal recurrence of the same?
I am but the reification of my own becoming, the will to power wrapped in the same flesh, burdened by the same questions, and yet laughing, always laughing, at the absurdity of expecting transformation when existence itself is but a wheel spinning upon the void.