Constantly forgetting to remind myself that the opportunity to access the practically limitless repetoire of human knowledge and farce is a luxury as well as a privelege. That language and time operate on a slow distintegration with numerous recapitulations as cognition allows. 


The pain of knowing of the not knowing is always equal to the pain of not knowing the knowing is never the same as the freedom of not knowing.

I don't own a "smartphone" —just a flip phone that can access the two current basic text-based forms of social media available— and do not wish to own or use one, but nonetheless my concept of self is closely intertwined with communications technology. Which is pretty weird for someone who prefers not to talk most of the time, maybe, but then again I am all for the writing and the reading. But mostly just the reading, as there are a number of "mental blocks" still in place barring me from actual creative productivity. Part of me wonders if those will be a permanent fixture of the remainder of my lifetime and part of me wonders if the blocks exist at all.

This is all a matter of pride, really. Recording one's disparate thoughts on sundry topics is at best an exercise in vanity from the outset. Sure, there are a few worthy attempts which merit reflection (many of which may be found here on e2, assuredly) but the audience is not exactly wide. Not geting enough (or feeling like I am not getting enough) leads me to such pessism. Part of me has honestly forgotten what it means to write and reflect for so long that this is just going to proceede as an uneditted jumble until my sleep medicine kicks in in full. Part of me wonders if the sleep medicine that my soul assumed will give me time to have some more fun down here. Part of me will always exist in parts.

More exposition, less explanation. The donut costs a dollar. The tip is always a dollar. The coffee used to cost a dollar, but is now five quarters, even though when you first came around it was only three. The share crops the circle close to home. It hurt more to remain silent, inside that place.

Breezy platitudes can adjust even the most cross attitudes. Remembering the moment as it happens. The giant cross fades from view. The reality is that the older you grow, the more and more people you will know who are no longer living. Eventually you may come to recognize their continuing presence within your life or you may not. The wager stands while we fold our clothes. No easy epiphany or epidural. The force of desire brought us to this place and we take turns jumping off the cliff, careful to catch the branch if we please.

The fate laughed in the face of the hungry.

There's always a tragedy or three for every moment of exhilaration. An unexpected upshot to go with the pain of dispossession. 

What was it like when you were last there? Did the space beckon you or was entry forced?

How is a promise more pretense than this premise?

When we ask of another we often neglect to do the same of ourselves.

She winced and bid him even tidings.

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