Existential solitude at one in the morning. Sartre was right. Woe is the lonely nature of conscious existence. The first and last words out of everyone's mouth is I. It's just a litany of irrelevant babble. There's nothing left but to retreat to gardens swept immaculate. Idyllic scenes painted on a glass horizon. A half-hour lifetime trapped in the details.
11:58 a.m. - 2018-03-19
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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