What keeps you alive in crisis can kill you once you are free. One must not choose to die, though one must die anyway.

I've always loved girls, and our insufferable town sees this love as deviance.

We are our ancestors. The spiritual umbilicus is apparent to all. The dead look upon us with the pure love of a mother’s gaze. But the dead love is even more because of our flawed flesh and eternal confusion. The removal from form allows for total and complete unconditional love. We carry our dead with us like helium balloons. There is no breaking the umbilicus.

This is not the last time he will get himself in trouble with bravado that cannot be backed up. He ends up dying that way.

Time has a way of eternally looping us in the same configurations. Like fruit flies, we are unable to register the patterns. Just because we are the crest of the wave does not mean the ocean does not exist. What has been before will be again.

What happens before birth and resumes after death - this is more real than the brief spark of life. Out lives just carry the physical burden of carrying energy forward. We put on suits of meat as training, as a challenge. We all know this is temporary.

We are product of the immense torque that propels this universe. We are not individuals but a great accumulation of all that lived before.

We always live along side the dead. It's scary but the quiet is our true home. This is why we must make the most of our gristle and meat.

The partiers will just demand that I echo their toxicity. Nothing bores me more.

the air is so clean you can smell the difference between smooth rock and jagged.