A Collection of Spectacles

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Where I once was is exactly where I never want to be anymore.

Nostalgia has quickly dissipated, dissolved, exploded, atom-bombed, insert your favorite nihilistic adjective here. So on and so on and so on and such. Riding the wave.

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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. 

      *        *           *

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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