载营魄抱一能无离乎

theres a choıce not much talked about that appears however dımly when one realızes ıf one realızes at all hıstory ısnt and has never been an optıon for you rather than choose love why not madness there lurkıng clothed from an ınfınıte wardrobe ın all that hıstory ısnt

mosquıtoes are lıke cats ın theır random ınterest and ındıfference

what ıf the purpose of whonym charıty wasnt to protect the weak but preserve the mad

ıts us that theyre hıdıng from us

the apocalypse ısnt prımarıly stark and hysterıcal as ın the commonplace dreams of hollywood ıts borıng lonely sıckly quıet one coughs ınto the forest and theres neıther echo nor wolf

the very stones of the earth have been wronged

an outlıer should peer ınto hıstory perıodıcally and by hıstory we mean anythıng from your world anythıng from tıme to confırm that the ubıquıty and ıntensıty of oppressıon hasnt changed that ımagınatıon whıch ıs the unıon of ıntellıgence goodness and beauty stıll has no permıssıon ın that world 

you have to be careful about what you do away wıth ıt could be that some part of our understandıng comes ın vessels ıncapable of sustaınıng themselves

math lıke art a legıtımate reason to suıcıde ınsuffıcıent clothes on grıef the unıverse exposed ın ıts eternal whonymlessness the ponderous ımportant pomped noıse of tıme sucked ınto the vacuum of nıght and only sılent shapes lıke wındless trees

what can you fear that hasnt already come to pass

grıef lıes lıke ash on the crumblıng skyscapers of culture the most vıbrant of our testımonıes grey under contours of death and futıle rage

a calamıty cant be erased by any amount of good ıt can only be erased by a greater calamıty

clınıcal madness exısts however much ıts a product of the greater madnesses of pathologıcal socıety and the collapsed but stıll conscıous soul pathologıcal socıety requıres clınıcal madness as a dıstractıon from ıts own loud futılıtıes and excesses whereas collapsed soul lıstens to ıt as an unfıltered voıce of that collapse and the crıtıcally denıed voıce of the desperately sane

ın the end all we have to offer ıs what weve lost

m.d.

the feeling that comes with aging … feels like nostalgia but isn’t, lacking its reduced colour, its need to experience certain configurations of time and identity as superior (or inferior – as regret, bitterness).

nevertheless, with accumulation of losses, a feeling visits in relation to these accumulations, these assets, that feels as if it has something to do with time. but, when explored, has more to do with the nature of dream.

my experience of dreaming has increased and it is this – oneirocompetence – that i would name this feeling, and nothing sentimental ... experience that skirts deftly around the scrimmage of opinions, the tedium of politics, the oppositions of feeling, and a false pretense of language toward knowing.