No energy to articulate. No desire to seek. It's one of those ebbs again.
I'm sick of people, sick of drugs, sick of art. I want to go off them all. I'd go off work too, if I wasn't addicted to my paltry paycheck. But I'm not going to be a slave to self-imposed social, chemical, or artistic obligations. And I'm not going to do stuff that doesn't inspire me. For now, I'd like to read, walk, and think. That's about it.
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