i am tired, but lately i feel as if I can’t hear the song anymore, the eternal, light, passion, bloom on the cusp of the future, copse and bower, blue water, and footsteps in the mud washed clean in the stream, and remember, remember
i remember all those stories about friends being the family you can choose, but we forget, or maybe we knew all along, that if we can choose, we can abandon for fickle reasons – and is this better?
and maybe my mistake was: this is a world build on trust; if you trust the data or your friend is telling the truth, and you’re more likely to succeed; or maybe my own madness is catching up with me, as I type to ghosts from behind a curtain.
and I’ve said it before but the impermanent transcendence of the online, the true, the unmasked fiction of self, is our best hope for any kind of salvation
bu there’s something hollow and rotted about all these religions I read, as if the faith of the long dead was more important than the faith of the living, as if, despite all their protests to the contrary, their God is dead; or there’s something modern about all these reformation fantasies, as if their God lived only in the present, and mirrored our present madness.
and what did the weak do to deserve their life? and the strong?