all these works of piecemeal genius, never lasting, never burning longer than a night, I’m so tired of them
there are so many acceptable ways to shame the way people are, but is shame the right choice?
people have a strange sense of order, as if the fire itself was out of place
everyone moves so fast these days, everything’s a rush to be productive or efficiently produce; and maybe we need a little dark, so we can sleep.
it’s late and I’m tired and I just like the way things sound when you wrap them around into thoughts with meaning tied on like little bells, and this generation feel so lost and alone, doesn’t it? hidden behind screens and consumption
and there’s another side to this world, a next or nearby world, a heaven unbounded by the suffering of this one: the world of the mind
sometimes I leave my truths half said, and look more a fool, to keep the peace; a kind of self-destructive pacifism that I should probably regret