At home, you’ll sometimes wake up in your dark bed with the terror you’ve fallen asleep in the booth and missed a changeover.
We’re a generation of men raised by women. I’m wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.
It’s so hard to forget pain, but it’s even harder to remember sweetness.
You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else, and we are all a part of the same compost pile.
Are these things really better than the things I already have? Or am I just trained to be dissatisfied with what I have now? Am I just under a spell that says nothing is ever good enough?
What I’m talking about is free will. Do we have it, or does God dictate and script everything we do and say and want? Do we have free will, or do the mass media and our culture control us, our desires and actions, from the moment we’re born?
Every garden looks beautiful in May.′ Meaning: Everyone is somewhat attractive when she’s young.
You just don’t expect to meet dead people.
I don’t know who to believe, all I know is my feathers are on fire.
It’s a hundred generations removed from anything original, but the truth is aren’t we all?
Because sponges never have a bad day.
What she’s learned is what she always learns. Plato was right. We’re all of us immortal. We couldn’t die if we wanted to. Every day of her life, every minute of her life, if she could just remember that.
Our misery. This suppression of our rational mind is the source of inspiration. Suffering takes us out of our rational self-control and lets the divine channel through us.
All these mystics, throughout history, all over the world, they all found their way to enlightenment by physical suffering.
Still, the better she could draw, the worse her life got – until nothing in her real world was good enough. It got until she didn’t belong anywhere. It got so nobody was good enough, refined enough, real enough. Not the boys in high school. Not the other girls. Nothing was real as her imagined world.
She’s seen it, pictured it, dreamed of it. She’s wanted it so bad.
The paradox: is God a racist, sexist, homophobic, anti-Semetic? Or is God testing to see if I am?
We dance past states of saints in somebody else’s religion. To m they’re just rock shaped into glorified nobodies.
One minute was enough, Tyler said, a person had to work hard for it, but a minute of perfection was worth the effort. A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection.
The liberator who destroyed my property has realigned my perceptions.