I wear long pants in August. I sleep standing up. I walk with my face toward the sky.
I’ve always wanted one thing. The measure of a life.
A baby peed on my leg yesterday and I didn’t cry. It’s been ten million years since I’ve had sex. Twenty since I’ve been in love.
Am I worried that my womb will rot? Uhm, no. No, I guess not. I believe in miracles.
Am I grumpy. In passing. Now and then.
Do I speak for myself? Yes, yes, of course I speak on behalf of myself.
If we were closer to God would there be as much suffering?
That’s a difficult concept to quantify, suffering. It cannot be cupped or measured. It is different for everyone but the affect is the same.
Yes, the answer is yes. There would be suffering. But there would also be an end to suffering.
There is no formula, I’m sorry. You are not meant to make your decision as to whether or not to awaken based on how many years or months or weeks it will take to untangle yourself from the suffering you have prolonged, surrendered to, needed for growth.
Coffee with Buddha. Now with 50% more additives. But coffee nonetheless.
Coffee to go this morning. As I walk down Rose.
Do I regret anything? I regret the things I’ve done or not done that have hurt people, regardless of how unaware of how it wouid hurt. But I do not dwell in regret. And the key to this life is simple: forgiveness. Forgiveness of self is the antidote to living with regrets.
So, I hope you can take on that mountainous task with ferocity. I hope you’re up for that.
How you like me now? Golly Molly.
I’m afraid to get lost in words.
This summer just was not my fucking summer. Shit, I do not like eight. It makes me wonder what happened in a previous life. But I also know that eight has impacted this life.
Life for me rn is what the French call complicated.