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I don't care about peace. or war. I prefer tranquility, in little things, in my life around me
I wish for people to be free, happy and fat but I am not concerned with making the world my own personal fiefdom following my rules and existing in accordance with my principles again,
I'd prefer it but i am not preoccupied with bringing the world into line
this is not my place
this is a waste of energy
I am not concerned with wine unless it sparkles white like thunder or the waves in moonlight
I lust for beer at times, though not often
I drink no coffee. I want only chocolate
I have disdain for people and addictions though without doubt, I have my own
they may not be in nature as nefarious or insidious as cocaine or nicotine, drink, or gambling but in that they are addictions, they are equally disgusting, I feel.
One must lose the addiction to being right or rather parading one's rightness around for all to see at all times
one must let go of delusions
lose all illusion
one must know what one is and know that it's pointless to try to understand the world around him
the world around him and its chaos are a great source of his discomfort
lose that, and the sought after tranquility comes some distance closer
paradoxically, that which is sought after is disturbed and obscured by the very acting of seeking it
I don't know what's going on and I refuse to pretend that I do
your inhibitions are an atrocity
I need to be reminded of my sanity
put me back in touch with my rational mind
twitter is the death of mystery...perception...insight
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is there no solace is there no reprieve
you must acquiesce
surrender all claims to dignity and self-respect
all appeals to reason and logic
god gave you a wicked heart
I wonder if maybe that were true
it's as plausible an explanation as any
I vacillate between complete admiration and total disgust with regard to women
I look at her and marvel at how such a creature so beautiful could ever have been created in this flawed and evil world and then I'm made to realize exactly how this can be so
for in her dwells a wickedness or something that will insist that I cannot know her love, which is just as good as wickedness
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“There is a woman stuck between my eyelids. I would tell her to get out if I could. But there is a woman stuck in my throat.”
every performance a birth, every curtain a death.
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the words that sing to my soul as if they had leapt to the page from my own pen
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There is no tomorrow. Girls in LA get tattoos of Chinese symbols and don't know what they mean. Girls in NYC get tattoos of TS Eliot quotations on their backs.
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