I suddenly feel as though the rug has been pulled out from under me, like I don’t know anything, like I’ve been living a lie for years. I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know who to talk to. I don’t trust anybody. I don’t have anybody.
I don’t know where I’m going next.
Maybe it is time to start everything over, from scratch, from the beginning, from birth.
Maybe it’s too late for that.
I don’t know.
§ 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.)