My general experience of life has been that it is sad. Life is a deeply, deeply sad thing.
That’s not to say that it’s not worth living; it’s worth it in the same way that it’s worth the effort to read a tragic—but beautiful and well-written—novel.
But I honestly can’t relate to those who suggest that it’s joyful, or exhilarating, etc. I’ve never seen it, not in my own life, and not in the lives of those I 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.)