I can’t live a fast paced life. I don’t enjoy it– to do things routinely because it needs to be done, and that too in an expedited manner. Granted I prefer to do things, otherwise boredom would kill, but I’d do it slower, with breaks. Where I can smell the flowers once in a while, or lay down on the grass and figure out what shapes the clouds happen to make in the sky at that time. Why can’t it be possible? I’d hold back on the industrial revolution, and prolong the Spanish siesta.
You let it bother you again. Now go there –> Rock bottom.
The best thing about being completely miserable is… it can only get better.
Crawling all over skin
Venomous snakes rolling out of tongues
Black hole draining eyes
Brick in place of brain
Where are you? Transcended, in and out of it, intoxicated, delirious, somewhere far and away, in Neptune, spinning in a circle, but apparently sitting right here, eyes closed.