there is no intiative to do any better for anyone else when there is none to do better for myself. there are no reparations for knowledge.


life ceases to shine around the corner, when walking eventually reaches a resting point and suddenly where i am, we look vague and bleak. Its far more appeasing to sit than to go on.

what every pedestrian fails to recognize is a rest a never a merely a rest. every block's a labored run. Looking forward only keeps me in stjllframe. And when the small momentos that you have grown to love betray you, the next block only grows stronger in distaste.

why do i go?

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