...I was surrounded by a society in which people didn't appear to believe in anything deeper than their product wish lists. Think about it. Utah is populated largely by people who believe their prophet discovered a pair of gold plates and spoke to an angel named Moroni. Hollywood is run by people who surgically alter their appearances and think
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I go for walks, I wrote. I look for the man I once was. I believe that by wandering I might find him wandering here. I need to soothe myself in this uncertainty. I want something to write about. Walking in the big decaying yet eternal-seeming ruin of the city helps me meditate on the past and gives me the hope that I might find the man I had
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He had arrived at a sort of modus vivendi with his grief, and such deals were best not broken. You wore your grief, and if necessary you ate it and you drank it until it became your substance, until you looked in the miror one day and there was nothing looking back but grief itself, a man made entirely of sorrow, but still standing, somehow still
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Nothing is lost; be still; the universe is honest. Time, like the sea, gives all back in the end, But only in its own way, on its own conditions: Empires as grains of sand, force as coal, Mountains as pebbles. Be still, be still, I say; You were never the water, only a wave; Not substance, but a form substance assumed.
Truth usually makes no sense. If your desire is for everything to make perfect sense, then you should take refuge in fiction. In fiction, all threads tie together in a neat bow and everything moves smoothly from one point to the next to the next. In real life, though, in real life...nothing makes sense. Bad things happen to good people. The
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