Ideas are the most powerful and horrible chains.
But things can be beautiful without purpose.
Mind can drip as a leaking pipe.
Don’t fool yourself into drinking too much from it.
Death is like when you are perfectly still.
But what if your mind moves?
Sometimes you need to be able to give up everything
only to keep one thing, any thing.
How do you know if 1, 2, 3 means going up or going down?
You don’t.
We always are a bit afraid of beauty; we feel vulnerable.
l’écho nu de la nuit
passe lentement à travers les murs
déchirant les sons de mon oubli
il n’y a là-haut aucun partage entre nous
la douleur pousse parmi les toiles
d’une Tour de Babel malade
comme ton passé et le mois de mars presque bleu ciel
he sat at table number 9
she chose 10
their eyes never met
but only through the wall wide gilded mirror across the room
he thought her name was Faith
she guessed his was Luke
he took a sip from his mocha massimo every 41 secs
she guessed he was 41, slowly stirring her white-no-sugar earl grey
she wondered if the girl on page three of his 'Sun' was a blond, a brunette or a red head
he wondered what principle she's at in 'Why men love bitches'
they ate lemon and poppy seed muffins with small bites
his lips were firm
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