No charity. None for you. None for you either. Or you. Or you and you and you. And you, how’s life, enjoying being a libertine? Skimming this post to look for your name. Sorry, it’s not here. Even the reflection is hallucination.
Unfortunately, this is the kinesis time, when one can still feel the nausea of loss, the sickening draining of happy healthy brain chemicals that are stimulated and regulated by familiar faces and voices. This is the dynamic, the middle of the diminuendo, when one still clings to hopes of salvation, dashed a splinter at a time. One hasn't yet given in to the void, and constructed an aesthetically-appealing melancholia for oneself, with bluesy integrity. One hasn't made that cold comfort available yet.
Sometimes I condition my air. I don’t condition my hair. I’ve done too much conditioning of the mind, it backfired on me, conditioned me to react badly. I should watch the libertines, then I’d know the secrets of the universe.
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