#akrx

If you knew you had but so long, what books would you read?

What would you draw, write, create in bliss and joy for the enjoyment of it?

What, rather, holds you to living?

You want to wake to it, again and again.

I'm proud of myself for finding it and dedicating myself to it.

Maybe too overzealous, at times, but that is how I love.

Why would it, my life's focus, reason to live, one true and lasting (eternal) loves be any different?

I will die content in any moment knowing I was always in dance with my true love: Love itself, Life itself.

I gave my best till my dying breath. --AKRx

So, carful of your next step but do not forget

To fly,

Live well without regret,

Comfort—ah yes, the devil’s lullaby. A velvet gag, mistaken for mercy, the narcotic of the unconscious. We cling to its mask as though it were salvation, yet it is only a tapestry of rebranded lies, suckled at the breast like docile babes. We are fattened on ideals not our own, lulled into stupor so we might never face the unbearable task— the unveiling of our own face hiding behind the mask.

Ignominious, they would name it— from in- “not” and nomen “name,” the disgrace of losing the borrowed identity, the infamy of stepping beyond their gilded illusions. To commit such an act, commettere un’ignominia, is to embrace the scandal of becoming no one but oneself. Odium be damned! For it is the only true glory left to us.

Awakening is no hymn whispered to dawn. It is terror incarnate: the beauty that blinds, the disgust that corrodes, the falsehoods laid bare in light—such brittle bones. It is descending into the cavern of one’s own depths to discover one’s true home, and confronting the monster that dwells there— then daring to take its hand, without yielding to despair.

Yes, Homeric even, this descent. For within us Apollo and Dionysus wage their endless quarrel: light and dark, harmony and frenzy, the healer and the bringer of plague, the lyrist and the archer, the drunken uncle and the divine madman who rends flesh from bone. Each holds their extremes, and to deny one is to castrate the other. For Apollo too carries pestilence in his quiver, and Dionysus, laughter in his cup.

They called my choices ignominious— a word shaped from Latin roots, in- for “not,” nomen for “name,” a stripping away of honor, a refusal of the good label.

To them, I was a body without a name, a shadow outside their graced hall, an exile from their polished mirrors.

But in the quiet, I traced that etymology deeper: not-name, not-their-name. And in the absence of borrowed syllables, my own voice began to bloom— unlettered, unblessed, but unbroken.

If disgrace is only the loss of a title they would brand upon my skin, then let disgrace be my freedom. Let shame peel away the borrowed masks, until I am raw, luminous, a self unashamed of its scars.

Lannett (LCI:NYS) Fundamental Valuation Report

Fundamental Valuation Report

Lannett(LCI:NYS) Healthcare:Drug Manufacturers-Specialty & Generic

This Report was…