The Vent

i am entering a state of confusion, which is not the dandiest thing one can enter. The State of Confusion borders Insanity, the land of chaos. It is paradoxically the moment of greatest artistic expression, although at the sacrifice of the more immediate responsibilities, which are at the source of the stay in the State of Confusion.

We spend our entire lives putting and keeping things in order, but when we die, it all returns to chaos. Why bother?

The smell of Chinese food attaching to your clothes, hydrogenated oil atoms floating from the pan onto your woolen coat and my face. Let us toast, cup in hand, cigarette in fingers, to the remaining days. There is money, and there is culture. Money laughs at culture, it says culture doesn't feed. "I feed the soul and free the mind, whereas you imprison" it responds. At the end of the day Culture starves to death and Money lives up to 87 in a state of emptiness and depression.

Life, life, life, life, life... The less you worry, the more you live. The less you think, the more you do. The more you do, the more you risk. The more you risk, the higher chance you might pass. The more you survive, the more life means. Or you could be a Quaker and be happy.