Life’s lack of symmetry, or incessant divergence from it, made him nauseous.
Pity swelled in his stomach, growling, kneading blindness for complacency.
“These days, garbage is packaged as happiness (the packaging is garbage too).
Advertising is a matter of subtly persuading someone into ‘self’-redefinition
(the persuading is a matter of the suggestion, suggesting ‘there is more;’
the suggestion is a matter of the someone, promising ‘more is theirs’).”
Nothing really matched: himself, his mirror image, no more than a mirage.
The ocean breathed, churning waves, a contradiction, powerfully lifeless.
“The subjects, not subjectivity, is important. Number one: no ONE matters.
Our dehydrated lives are filthy wet, writhing around, waiting to dry out.
Drops of water are arbitrary, fourteen-year-olds deciding bestsellers.
The search for yourself, even in someone else, is a hay-pile straw-hunt.”