Rainbow Albino Fish



Roasting hymn on low with North American napalm


I gotta live

If I have died and don't know it of whom do I ask the time? What does old ash say when it passes near the fire? Does smoke talk with the clouds? Is it true our desires must be watered with dew? But is it true that the vests are preparing to revolt? What does a fly do, imprisoned in one of Petrarch's sonnets? How long do others speak if we have already spoken? Why does the earth grieve when the violets appear? And to position sad Nixon with his buttocks over the brazier? Roasting him on low with North American napalm? It is bad to live without a hell: aren't we able to reconstruct it? Am I allowed to ask my book whether it's true I wrote it? Do all memories of the poor huddle together in the villages? And do the rich keep their dreams in a box carved from minerals? Whom can I ask what I came to make happen in this world? Why do I move without wanting to, why am I not able to sit still? Was it where they lost me that I finally found myself? Will our life not be a tunnel between two vague clarities? In the end, won't death be an endless kitchen? Will your destruction merge with another voice and other light? What will your disintegrated bones do, search once more for your form?

the tragedy of losing someone you loved to the person they are now. i can't be like this

and other scenes are not taking

i want

this is all there ever was

To me art is a reaction to human life, while philosophy is a number of observances of it.


Hume's distress in reflecting on his skeptical findings: "The wretched condition, weakness, and disorder of faculties, I must employ in my enquiries, encrease my apprehensions. And the impossibility of amending or correcting these faculties, reduces me almost to despair." Ruth wrote "At the end of this (somewhat tortuous) diagnosis, I (disappointingly) conclude that the elimination of induction in favor of IBE hasn't improved our epistemological situation and may well have worsened it."

White oak dwarves man, as do the broadleaves of Chile