Living in what is Damaged

Emma Goldman said that "Revolution is but thought carried into action.” Who are you trying to please?

There is an art to living in what is damaged and it doesn't have anything to do with repair. Sad witches leaving the forest for senior living centers in distant and unfamiliar cities.

There are storm clouds in the sky, something must be missing in my heart. A boundary that is mostly vegetative, suggestive, communicative, et cetera. 

Arendt's observation re: the banality of evil coming into focus as an inability to change perspective, and an unwillingness to notice this inability and examine it with others, i.e., we are the problem we're trying to solve. So we made mixed tapes once, so what.

Something about the cost, something about the price. We said goodbye in a parking lot behind the coffee shop, we never spoke again, it's okay but why do I remember it so clearly?

Another little cup of coffee please. The fine line between too rough and just right when it comes to fondling my balls.

Say nothing. Bob Marley's conversion.

Get what right, what are you talking about. We sit for an hour in the back room talking, a lot gets said about something I used to pretend was funny but which is not, being mostly about alcoholism. 

We gave each other head in a meadow surrounded by sheep overlooking Bantry Bay, we both cried a little after, rocking in each other's arms, as if something had at last been abandoned to which we would never return. "Splish splash I forgot about the bath."

I can't take anyone seriously who doesn't own a mirror ball, what the fuck are you doing with your life? Icarus had a gift for abstraction, it got him laid, it worked, but at a late juncture it occurs to him that his Dad knew how to build wings and he doesn't, i.e., Icarus finally asks "what do I know?"