At the time, my life just seemed too complete, and maybe we have to break everything to make something better out of ourselves.
You have a class of young strong men and women, and they want to give their lives to something. Advertising has these people chasing cars and clothes they don’t need. Generations have been working in jobs they hate, just so they can buy what they don’t really need.
You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else, and we are all part of the same compost pile.
Worker bees can leave. Even drones can fly away. The queen is their slave.
We don’t have a great war in our generation, or a great depression, but we do, we have a great war of the spirit. We have a great revolution against the culture. The great depression is our lives. We have a spiritual depression.
We are the middle children of history, raised by television to believe that someday we’ll be millionaires and movie stars and rock stars, but we won’t. And we’re just learning this fact.
This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time.
This is how it is with insomnia. Everything is so far away, a copy of a copy of a copy. The insomnia distance of everything, you can’t touch anything and nothing can touch you.
The things you used to own, now they own you.
The lower you fall, the higher you’ll fly. The farther you run, the more God wants you back.
That old saying, about how you always kill the thing you love, well, it works both ways. And it does work both ways.
Maybe self-improvement isn’t the answer. Maybe self-destruction is the answer.