My Mother Once Told Me

My Mother Once Told Me She Thought Hell Would Be Nothing More Than Being Given A Glimpse Of God--then Having It Taken Away, Forever.

Every Now And Then Life Sold You An Illusion Of Design. A Coincidence, A Parallel, A Sledgehammer Symbol. The Goods Were Always Faulty. You Forked Over The Cash Only To Discover They'd Fallen Apart By The Time You Got Home. But Life Kept At It. Life Couldn't Help It. Life Was A Compulsive Salesman.

Only Meaning Can Make A Difference And We All Know There's No Meaning. All Stories Express A Desire For Meaning, Not Meaning Itself. Therefore Any Difference Knowing The Story Makes Is A Delusion.

I Suppose The Word "unbearable" Is A Lie By Definition. Unless You Kill Yourself Immediately After Using It.

I'm In Love, Truly, Madly, Deeply In Love With Perception.