My Damage

I can see myself many years from now on a shortcut 'cross campus. I can feel the rain and the warm mist emanate from the trees. I can hear the water splash all around. I can taste the sweet condolence wasting on my lips. And just at the edge of the clearing, where beauty meets progress, I can see past the black drapes and frame into an eye I've always longed for, an iris full of angst. The meaning of her clothes and thoughts juxtaposed to the contrast of her face and hair; life's grand struggle, that of good and evil, is laid out on her bed when she succumbs to the night. If I could just be there... if I could fall beside her and wither. That's all I want.

To Look Death in the Eye

This man never fails to tear me away from my misanthropic self.

"I would love to believe that when I die I will live again, that some thinking, feeling, remembering part of me will continue. But much as I want to believe that, and despite the ancient and worldwide cultural traditions that assert an afterlife, I know of nothing to suggest that it is more than wishful thinking. The world is so exquisite with so much love and moral depth, that there is no reason to deceive ourselves with pretty stories for which there's little good evidence. Far better it seems to me, in our vulnerability, is to look death in the eye and to be grateful every day for the brief but magnificent opportunity that life provides."

-Carl Sagan, Billions and Billions p. 215

There are so many beautiful people that deserve good lives but are trapped suffering in genetic mishaps. It pushes my heart to its limits to see them desperate and hurting and wishing more than fucking anything that things were different. I wish God was real just so there'd be someone to blame.