Some people die in Texas. Some people die in Spain. Some people die in their sleep. Some people die in pain.
We were all in love with trauma. We were all in love with the same ideas we projected onto people and disguised with their name.
I don't live in nine-eleven-land and neither do my peers. I've been monitored by other people's Gods for twenty-two ******* years. Coffee pots and cigarettes stimulate my day and keep the thoughts streaming, that eventually fade away.
Some people die in Utah. Some people die in Prague. Some people never get married or have the family dog.
We were all in love with status. We were all in love with goals that would make life poignant and make ourselves whole.
I don't subscribe to the thought that my thoughts necessarily matter. If life is a horror movie, then I'm the fake blood splatter. Bible thumps and dead eyes, are all part of my design, and how I live and where I die means to separate my mind.