The human world is made of stories, not people. The people the stories use to tell themselves are not to be blamed
The impossible is negotiable. What is possible is malleable.
The last of the cherry blossom. On the tree, itturns ever more perfect. And when it’s perfect, it falls. And then of course once it hits the
The learnin' mind is the livin' mind... an' any sort o' smart is truesome smart, old smart or new, high smart or low.
The lie that happiness is about borrowing money you haven’t got to buy crap you don’t need, says Ian. The lie that we live in a democratic state. And the most weaselly lie of all, that there is no cla...
The lounge is empty of bodies but full of debris: wineglasses, ashtrays, food wrappers, and a pair of silk boxer shorts over the Boer War rifle
Why fight the 'natural' (oh, weaselly word!) order of things? Why? Because of this--one fine day, a purely predatory world shall consume itself. In an individual, selfishness uglifies the soul; for th...
These...xistential qualms you suffer, they just mean you're truly human.
The mind abhors a vacancy & is wont to people it with phantoms.
Perpetual encagement endows any mirage of salvation with credibility. Ascension creates a hunger sharp enough to consume the subject’s sanity,
The minutes jog up the down escalator.
Love’s not just the drug; it’s also the dealer.
The world won’t leave things be. It’s always injecting endings into beginnings. Leaves tweezer themselves from these weeping willows. Leaves fall into the lake and dissolve into slime. Where’s the sen...
Why does any martyr cooperate with his judases?
The only explanation is that my senses, memory, and mind are conspiring against my well-being, and nothing’s scarier than that.
The organs of Venus are familiar to all, but oh, my brothers, the organ of Saturn is the bladder.
The parlor was inhabited by a monstrous hog’s head (afflicted with droop-jaw & lazy-eye), killed by the twins on their sixteenth birthday, & a somnambulant Grandfather clock (at odds with my own pocke...
The pieces fell into place. I fell into pieces.
The potatoes were starch grenades. The canned carrots were revolting because that is their nature.
The present is a battleground . . . where rival what-ifs compete to become the future 'what-is.' How does one what-if prevail over its adversaries? The answer . . . 'Military and political power, of c...
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