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.
By April, life has killed you.
Let it go. The world doesn’t need another photograph.
Manage to find someone willing to pay you for being some semblance of who you are, and you might survive.
Hell is other people’s nostalgia.
Looking for the few right words that will fix everything.
Maybe next time.
Because their abject suffering represented an affront to the fragile belief systems of those around them, they were held responsible for their own misfortune.
, the answer to which I’d rather not find through personal experience.
At one celebratory banquet, Mr. Aldrin was breathlessly asked, “Tell us how it really felt to be on the moon!” Afterward, he rushed outside into an alley and wept.
It will need to be a spectacular dawn, because it’s really dark right now.
Only through cat gifs can we subdue our fear of death.