I can’t even devise an adequate sentence when every word I write has been written before. Where is the originality in that, and the originality in language if it is, fundamentally, the foundation of human existence; existence in general, if we’re feeling a little meticulous – isn’t that just disgusting? Let’s just be an entity of disparate impulses whose fragmented, and somewhat futile, attempts at philosophy seem to find solace only in the desire to just let the fuck go and live, whatever that is. There are too many semi-colons and too many pre-referenced mouthfuls. It’s a subsistence of questioning and not really bothering about the answer, because answers aren’t worth two fucks when we’re this misplaced. Does it not bother you that our eyes are sorely lacking?

And this generalised being that pushes us forward, well who is doing the pushing and is there a way to steer this thing off the gravel and onto something smoother? Because, in light of misfortune, it is giving me a headache and I am of a disposition that impedes my want of knowledge. Your integrity is making me nauseous; to which my lack of ‘extent’, and the convulsions of tongue verses teeth, questions artificial exposure. That, or an outbreak of pleasant triviality.

How do you look a person in the eye when you know they will never see you.