The criterion by which any activity must be judged: would you rather be asleep?
We all fell apart, while they just got younger and younger.
Going through her things, they came upon a note.
It said: I’d kill for a cigarette, or half an hour of sleep.
A vulgar preference for the novel over the good.
Not try anything. I think I’d be much happier that way.
If you could attain the ideal vibrational state… I’m thinking of that ice you get toward the end of winter. Little piles left over from the piles that melted. Inert little piles that just hang around.
In this state, ideally, one could absorb any number of blows to the face.
I love shit like that.
In the coming year, I think maybe something could happen for me. Something not bad. But only if I don’t want it too much.
It would have to come unbidden.
In retrospect, you never had a chance. You didn’t have the resources. You didn’t have the tools. And as you feel yourself going under, you just want to sleep.
Be the sound, not the hearing
The breath, not the breathing
The wind…
Did that work for you?
For a while.
Beneath the excitement of travel was a core of sadness, knowing this would become the memory of a place he’d seen for the last time.
At the time it felt catastrophic, but in retrospect it was a golden era.
That dreadful moment when you realize you’re despised.
Zoom out, insignificant. Zoom in, grotesque.
Would I give up a lifetime for one more day with you? In a second.
As ideas, opinions, and beliefs slowly metastasize into ignorance.
The promise of the future has receded into the distant past.
Why did we try so hard, why did we care? We never learned to play the game. We didn’t even know there was a game.
