Why do I do this? Why am I cooking French Vietnamese duck and savoy cabbage cream confit for a white man who will say the faintest thank you in between hours of complaints about everything that has nothing to do with me, and not for the man who introduced me to Alice Coltrane and listens for hours while I talk about what matters to me, the universe, and my brain mirroring the natural order, the flaws that it exposes the natural order, and the general wonder at the idea that anything can be a flaw when the actual objective of the place where the flaw fits has yet to be defined, so how did we even come up with the idea of right and wrong, and why do we so quickly point out wrong while debate until the end of time what is right?
Tag: Feel it All Around – Washed Out
This was in my drafts from yesterday
I don’t want to go home, and I don’t want to stay here. I want the world to stop, I want to quit my job, I don’t want to get old. I figure eventually I won’t care, I really won’t care, if I die. And that’s when I will. When dying isn’t so much an avoidance of what I don’t want to do, but just whatever, who cares what happens. If I die, I die.