“The ocean is a desert with it’s life underground
And a perfect disguise above
Under the cities lies a heart made of ground
But the humans will give no love”
“Signs in the street that say where you
What’s the deal with me lately? Missing vitamins? Too busy? I’m as diluted as tap water. Am I just getting old and my brain and body have decided it’s time to shift into pre-retirement? Jesus. Why am I sitting here with colds this year, why am I suddenly needing 8 hours of sleep instead of 4, and why do I feel as though my head is empty right now, in the morning?
Or is it just a combination of every last damn thing together? Is it New York? Hmmm, there’s a thought, actually. I wonder if it might be. Too much stimulus = dulled stimulus perception = dulled stimulus response. Interesting, and it feels as though it might be right.
Gotta think about this.
§ 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.)