It makes me angry sometimes, it's a visceral thing. How you come to despise your own words in your ears, not because they aren't genuine, but because they are; because you've said them so many times, your 'principles,' your 'ideals,' and so damned little in the world has changed because of them. It’s a mystery to me, we have greed with which we’ve agreed, you think you have to want more than you need until you have it all you won’t be free? Society, you’re a crazy breed, I hope you’re not lonely, without me. Justice? You get justice in the next world. In this one, you have the law.
You may be poor, but the one thing nobody can take away from you is the freedom to fuck up your life whatever way you want to.
The human species was given dominion over the earth and took the
opportunity to exterminate other species and warm the atmosphere and
generally ruin things in its own image, but it paid this price for its
privileges: that the finite and specific animal body of this species
contained a brain capable of conceiving the infinite and wishing to be
The power of the dead is that we think they see us all the time.
The dead have a presence. Is there a level of energy composed solely of
the dead? They are also in the ground, of course, asleep and crumbling.
Perhaps we are what they dream. There's good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad.