A Collection of Spectacles

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Currently, my most pressing question is whether my problems, primarily this unhappiness that is seeded so deep that I am never sad in the classic sense, but instead suspended in a perpetual state of boredom, is my body’s way of responding to external pressures, or if something defective is internally ingrained. 

“…thought concerns what he terms ‘the lost symmetry of the blastosphere’ – the primitive precursor of the embryo that is the last structure to preserve perfect symmetry in all planes.” 

Because, as we grow into fully developed beings, we are never quite the same on both sides.

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I ordered books!

The Atrocity Exhibition (J.G. Ballard)

Don Quixote: A Novel (Kathy Acker)

+ Something else. It’s part of a present. 

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I really would like it if something pleasant happened. I don’t know what exactly, but I’m hoping for good things.

I don’t want to develop the mannerisms of wounded romantics. That is, to become amorously involved with people you like and can withstand, but to turn away the ones you actually care for on a deeper level, because feeling in its truest form involves a certain amount of risk. 

Everything keeps changing, propelling forward or jumping back, but it seems nothing is ever motionless. The scenery, as of late: The trees are naked, the cold has stripped them bare, and the ground is empty and barren. Where was I when everything was still in bloom? Stuck in a mental fog, I missed the opportunity to bask in brighter days. 

Time never waits but sometimes I feel it should.

Edit: Tonight = The biggest full moon of the year!

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