drugged to sleep by repetition of the diurnalround, the monotonous sorrow of the finite,within I am awakerepairing in dirt the frayed immaculate threadforced by being to watch the birth of suns

Play with your ideals and laugh at the limitations of your mundane life.

We’re so wrapped up with egotistical things, career, family, having enough money, meeting the mortgage, getting a new car, fixing the radiator when it breaks—we’re involved in trillions of little acts just to keep going....

That which is worth telling is not worth having.

Someone put opera on inside the house. Someone changed it to hip-hop, thank God. Someone started a shower. Someone vacuumed. Again.Life. In all its mundane majesty.And you couldn’t take advantage of it if you were...