Midnight Pub

The Quiet Era

~tffb

the lights. the sounds. the sparks. the talk.

tamper it down

relax

at home. a flickering laptop screen.

a dimly lit phone screen

a calm and honest command line

less lights

fresh breeze

crickets and calmness

cigarettes and coffee

letting sounds - in the room, in my head, fade into a meld of ease

easy. go. quiet


inquiry

This morning felt like the perfect time to give it all up, leave it all behind - "it" being this. Strong sense of "How could it matter which way I AM represents itself to itself when the representation necessarily falls short of I AM's descriptionless glory? Why the perpetual hunt for the best wordly coffin to stuff infinite potential into? How did I AM seemingly get stuck in a broken record of a representational groove?"

etcetera

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tffb

never quit, just stubbornly try your best, middle finger at full extension ;)

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inquiry

But then I can't type!!! ;-)

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