I listen to these sober people, I listen to the discipline love sharers, the bliss salesman, they’re so oblivious to their own bullshit they generally believe it. So they want you to be sober with them, so you can be ignorant with them. They’re too busy healing to live. Learning about love to love. They can give their entire selves to a stupid fucking bongo but not a friend.
Hi Riley, this is Evgenios from Airbnb Rose Bungalows, you’re not responding to Airbnb and we have to clean the house, are you guys, ok? We saw a lot of blood on bedsheets and pillows 🙏
When you bridge the gap between your truth and your hope, you will find the truth is all you hoped for.
Everyone here, a slave to their freedom. Giving it labels of meaning. Me too… I am a writer. I am someone. We all just don’t want to work. We all just want someone to tell us that all this pain is worth it.
Bangkok is like Varanasi for the west. A holy ground. A pilgrimage. Where instead of worshipping Shiva they worship Ronald McDonald.
Sitting at the crematorium, there's something about watching twelve bodies burn that makes you feel good.
On the plane a lady kept resting her arm on mine; Indians must feel lost when their skin is not touching another’s. A super fat man was on the other side of the aisle, I find it farcical I have to pay $45 for an extra few kilos of luggage when such a man can steal space and weight free of charge.
She rubs oil into my skin pathetically, we are both bored. She calls another lady, she walks in, looks very young, offers her services and I say no again, slightly more tempted. It’s nice to see your morals hold up in a town that does not have any. Anyone can be a good man in a strictly governed society, who is he, when he can be anyone?
I'm tired of this cotton candy world making me feel insane because the little voice in my head wants to burn it down. Wants everyone to run around in circles in fear of their impending death. We all sit beside the truth without looking at it. Here’s my ego, the tough one talking of ego deaths of the past and how good they are, until its his turn. You are going to die buddy, that’s why you write, because you're so scared of it.
I have been with girls that make me feel safe, but they don’t make me feel much else. Does love bring unsettlement because you're scared to lose it or is that cheap lust because true love wouldn’t make you feel like this. What cotton candy land bullshit that must be, for it to just be easy, that is boring, right?