The yolk of the sky getting beyond the visible lane.
No matter where I am and whoever I am with; I always feel pale during sunsets.
I am reading a book today. These printed things make me sick…there’s nothing true there anymore, nothing susceptible, nothing conscious.
Most of the books are deserved to be thrown in the dustbins.
Drinking, listening to the mingling of stupidity, sleeping, fucking…walking down a brown road,
these are much better occupancies.
I have seen most people who gets engaged in something, who gets meaningful in somebody’s presence…
are most boring in their isolation.
Contrary to the popular believe solitude never makes you grisly assholes,
it’s like gliding through mountain range…
lesser the bushes, the pines more the smoothness of the ride.
Well i am sitting here facing the north wind,
the book is as usual in wastebasket,
all the artificialities are getting awakened outside…
I think that lone triumphant sperm of my beginning gets mostly proud when I become alone and make magic of non-involvement from thin air.

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Photograph: Anthony Kelly.