heroin

We want an escape. We want to escape this body, this feeling, this gravity, this personal history and burst into the world where everything is right. Give us purity. Give us utopia. Give us perfection. Give us our ideals! This is your demand because this is the demand of any conscious citizen. This is not enough. We need more in this life.

We feel things should be right. So god damnit they should be right! Why else would we feel they should be right in the first place? This feeling is real, and this need is real. After all, we’re so close. So fucking close. We’re in a universe so devoid of life, and we somehow end up alive on the place with the ocean! And warm weather! And beautiful rain.

And grass and flowers

and kisses and thanksgiving and

(the sun)

(& ripples in water with

light reflecting)

And clouds and oxygen and memory and bumblebees and fingers and the color purple and the star rays beaming down on us, and the architecture of Shanghai and Helsinki and the homes in New Shoreham, Rhode Island.

This miracle planet… This miracle spinning in space, we have it! So, why can’t every second of this life feel like a miracle? It’s funny, it’s uncanny. This Earth is perfect, literally the most most beautiful planet in the known universe; occupied by literally the most miserable bodies and brains in the known universe. Ahasfhasjfjashjjfdhaj hasfhasjfjashjjfdhajhf. We have this great geography, but the geography of the human brain is also the darkest, the scariest thing: a mental landscape as barren as the moon.

YET WE ARE HERE, imperfectthings thinging on the most perfect planet.

Vegetation everywhere

clean snow

breathable air

love

and music

and you and my memory

and youth

and passion at old age

and lakes

and smiles

and major scientific breakthroughs

and fucking awful me.