A great day to be alive it is, oh what a wonderful day.
I was on a path of destruction. Self obliteration. and destined to be raped by the ever moving tides of karma. There was no end in sight, no enlightenment, no elevated exsistence. just lying on my back in a wooden coffin surrounded by many who fell to the same fate.
January 17th, 1973. I was effortlessly flipping the pages of the paper, sipping at my coffee with a strong sense of leisure. like no one cared. They all cared. Everyone in that cafe gave a shit about me drinking my coffee. They cared the exact moment the barista sat the french press I ordered, right next to my journal and newspaper. I could hear the introspective thoughts bursting out. "That man's a writer!" "I'm sure he's a nobody." "Is he writing a novel?" Humans had a knack for irking me. Nevertheless, I was, in fact, a writer.
I was on a path of destruction. Self obliteration. and destined to be raped by the ever moving tides of karma. There was no end in sight, no enlightenment, no elevated exsistence. just lying on my back in a wooden coffin surrounded by many who fell to the same fate.
January 17th, 1973. I was effortlessly flipping the pages of the paper, sipping at my coffee with a strong sense of leisure. like no one cared. They all cared. Everyone in that cafe gave a shit about me drinking my coffee. They cared the exact moment the barista sat the french press I ordered, right next to my journal and newspaper. I could hear the introspective thoughts bursting out. "That man's a writer!" "I'm sure he's a nobody." "Is he writing a novel?" Humans had a knack for irking me. Nevertheless, I was, in fact, a writer.
