2023-12-12
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@ -525,6 +525,65 @@ pre { /* DRY who? */
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}
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/blah/2023-12-12.html
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Didn't have time to figure out how to set up TeX. Still don't. Don't have time
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to explain. I'm so tired. I'm wearing raw. Like skin torn apart by a fall at
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high speed onto a road. Flesh torn from bone, then bone itself ground against
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sandpaper. My girlfriend stopped texting back two weeks ago. Marrow leakage.
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I'm at the bus stop and freezing
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Do you get what I mean?
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It's been a week since you called me
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Am I still in your screen?
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I think of you daily
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or the bottomless pit
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I wanna throw myself into.
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But that's just how I think.
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You got tired of me, maybe,
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as a loving girlfriend
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perhaps the novelty faded
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into repetition.
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But I liked the routine
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and I thought it was a happy ending.
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After every chapter there's another
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is a better life what I'll get?
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Or an ache in my side and
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my catacomb cage quiet.
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I can't sleep anymore without watching people die on-line. I spend one or two
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hours a night on watchpeopledie.tv and I've probably seen most of the videos on
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the site, I made an account to track my viewing history so I don't watch the
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same stuff over and over. I long to know what it feels like to drown, to burn
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alive, to bleed out, to be crushed in the cogs of an industrial machine, to be
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shredded, beheaded, to die alone in the cold or the heat or a swampy summer
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day. I'm kept alive by decision paralysis and the bitter responsibility to make
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the world a significantly better place than I found it. I'm so tired.
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I imagine, engulfed in flames, or at the edge of consciousness under the sea,
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or within the swiftly closing steel maws of an unknowing automaton, or just
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after the machete starts sawing, or at the second gush from the vein, or
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simply looking at a dirty brick wall as the last sight on this plane, there is
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a moment, brief but potent, of realization and acceptance of what has happened,
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and that that one moment is the sweetest bliss of certain finity that could be
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given to a mortal. Just a tick, one sixty-fourth of a moment in a snap. I hope
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decades from now I can experience it and that it's as serene as I hope.
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I wonder if I'm just forgettable. Maybe that's all it is. I don't want to be
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forgotten but I do. If my words fade into aether I want my kharma to persevere.
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/blah/2023-12-10.html
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I feel alone and I wish I wasn't.
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I don't think Chimera has tex so I'll figure out how to compile it.
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/blah/2023-12-03.html
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theater of years
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