If you periodically shatter and scatter, that is the cycle where I want to be involved with you, what I want to induce in you, the dissolution and fragmentation and enlivening and liberation from guilt and worry and grace.

I do not feel shame. I am a cogitating animal, aware of the fiction of supernatural moralities and the relativity of sociocultural moralities.

Bombast. Everything tends to be so bloody boring, including people, including you, including me.

Everything you have been told is incorrect. Everything you have figured out yourself is incorrect.

I do nothing because there is nothing to do, and nothing to be done, and to believe that there is leads a path to misery.

Thinking is a rarity.

Aggaga.

A sound of harried assent.

Life is a booger, but oblivion has Nothing going for it.

What is love, anyway? Hell. Death.

Identity is an illusion, a vanity.

I can say the things within me until I die and you can listen to every one of them and you will still not know who I am. Nor I you. Nor anyone anyone.

I could tell you I love you. I could tell you I hate you. I could tell you I am not capable of loving, nor of hating. It all feels honest -- so how do I know what is honest?

Regardless of diseases, your body will break down and you will die.

There is no 'forward' to go to. There is only now.

What am I doing? I'm waiting on death, and so are you, whether or not you understand so.

Ambition is for suckers and Americans. It is vanity to believe that your particular life is important and that anything you do is of consequence.

All is emptiness.

Spend more time in the library. It makes life bigger; the possibilities flow into your head.

Make it grand, bold, preposterous.

As unresponsive as a corpse, and as provoking of the same disturbed reactions in people.

I'm frustrated by my narrow human intelligence. I'm trapped within it.

Look to the future! Farther, farther. Look far forward into the future and everything is dead, all existence has ceased.

I'm beyond the fate of the world.

Forsake the world.

“There's nothing here.”

“There's nothing anywhere.”

Hell opened underneath us and there was no way to escape falling in.

People are always dying, in every moment, in this moment.

Inside the hull of the warship when the shell detonates.

Pieces, pieces, pieces...

...a philosophical indifference to existence...