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.
contemptation
Oh, but I had such contempt for that vape you thought was so cool. Why do you young inheritors of even further along collapse actually like...
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