If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.
The less I talk the more I write.
I feel like giving up. On what? I don’t know. Giving up on whatever it is I’m trying to do here. Just let it go and sink into the distance…darkness…whatever that place is that no one comes back from. I’m already halfway there. I have been most of my life…wobbling between stability and destruction.
"hey bro why you got so many pens at your house?"
“steal em from work”
“why do you steal pens from your work”
“fuckin hate capitalism bro”