The bad philosopher
For years I have tried to make sense of my surroundings, until I realized there really are no surroundings to make sense of: just feelings that pervade our minds and allow us to see places we think we know.
What are we? What do we want? What do we need?
I too cannot answer this question; nonetheless, the bad philosophies I ink as my mind tries to draw conclusive spirals about the endless anxieties the world greets her with. I hope the bad philosophies I call my own will unlock some of the hidden questions your mind is yet to birth.
You were supposed to be eternal
I’m mad at you. I’m mad at you because you were supposed to be eternal. The innocent way you talk to me, the careless way you dream out loud, when you scream thoughts that are meant to be left unsaid, and when your laugh breaks the rational silence awkwardness proposes; these are the reasons why…
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