Philosophy is the sense of accomplishment that some people get from extracting a simple thought from a garbled mess of unending and unnecessary qualifications on thinking it.
I should have switched my Specialist a long time ago.
Silence, a pulsing crescendo between the footsteps in the hallway as if nothingness had taken governance. What parts of the crowd weren't whistling with the intake of breath were muttering to themselves in the half-light. The floor beneath their feet came alive with dull thuds and the clanking of metal. Announcing the activation of some buried
A clattering charcoal blotch of migrating crows smudges the sky above us as they follow the river south for the winter. Doves disturb the fucking foliage.
If you ever have a free moment, you might consider checking out the travel brochures for the town in which you live. You might be amazed. You might not want to live there any more
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Outside, lightning breaks across the sky. Small sporadic flares of electricity brighten the clouds like taking flash photos under a blue bed-sheet. I turn the pages of a well-worn novel. The spine splits and its cleaved; A halve in each hand, leaves parachute to the slick, wet ground. Thunder crawls like an ancient creature.
Young American ghosts destroy the air. The shadow of planes written on the sun. The bottom drops out, metal monsters tear Towards us. The ground rises as we run. God has sent this piece of rattling tin. Death is near. Sudden violins fall in.
Still living in the same studio where second-rate artists tied and bound things, he said: it was a long time ago, but I used to have an impact on my surroundings.
Strip malls, winter in the fall, it happened so slow I barely noticed it at all. Blank tapes, try to stay awake, I'm running from the future, but I can't escape it.
They don't looooove you, they don't love you, they don't loooooove you, they don't love you.