I want to kill. Kill, kill, kill. Just to be contradictory and worthless.
Or maybe I can still die young, like a movie star or a rock and roll hero.
—
Sometimes you wake up and you think to yourself, “I have turned into one of those people on TV.”
Each time it happens, your blindness becomes a little more acute.
The air gets a little heavier, more like clay, trying to climb into your head through your ears and harden into denial or surrender.
§ 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.)