THUS LOATHING

A little slice of literary deviance. Perhaps self-serving, or perhaps here to serve you, as the saying goes.
Or not. Neither. Nicht. Nein.
I'm neutral on this point.
Except when I'm not.

So it goes.

The line between joy & misery is as thin as infinity isn't,
a picture postcard depicting vague intermingled shades of contextual interpretation
balanced on the pin prick of your personal cameo
within the grand unintelligible scheme of
existence.

Wish U were here.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, sperm to worm.
What is your snapshot of being alive this very moment?

This is the root of all pages within this treatise thus.

This is where the notions live.
Echoing through the palace, reflections of self winking off the shards of shattered dinnerware.

Please leave the pain killers at home.