I spent the evening going through my old files and organizing them. I created a lovely new directory called “Broken Dreams” in my home directory and had a good depress over things. I also found a couple of bonuses: a poem I’d forgotten I’d written (which wasn’t stored with the rest) and a rather good short story that I didn’t remember at all.
By the way, thanks, Tona, for listening to me.
§ As you get older, the ghosts become more real than anything else.
§ Under the leaves, soil. Under the soil, stone. Under the stone, souls.
§ Radically empowering individuals in society may be the worst mistake we ever made.
§ Want to be a radical? Refuse to suffer. Then, wait for the assault.
§ Goodbye 2017, part two. (The real part.)
§ Sometimes you find home where you’ve never been—and you dwell where you aren’t.
§ The self can’t play Atlas for postmodernity because science is now supernatural.
§ Rehab is universal. So is history.
§ Identity, transcendence, and tactics.
§ Untitled. (a.k.a. Pretty faces, new old photos.)