I cannot live like there's no tomorrow until there's no tomorrow. for now it's all about tomorrows. & yesterdays

I touchpause shakespeare at shall I, keats at a thing of beauty is

tolstoy miscalculated the ages of the children in the death of ivan ilyich. lol.

I'm working on an essay - Godot is Waiting : How the Theatre of the Absurd pushed Drama to new Perspectives - & the only question on my mind is what the fuck was godot waiting for

repeat a word a dozen times & it's stripped of meaning yet we expect these chunks of sounds inked in arbitrary scribbles to carry & convey the infinite weight of our tapestried minds

interlewd : reverierun, pasdt eevee end adamn's, two proprose forpose migh lublub forue vile wee grassfuck &nd catchbreath vial uwu touchmenaughty grassbendoword eucleistogamasshole ungenderred imangipining touchscream diream careemning faust upseam den udder mardjinns, nonotnonutnov nonotnofapneether nofrozedaboozing justdearing justsofteresting justelboughlucking justus a lone a lost

if I hang my lonely days on the clothesline outside, will I start loving the inside

perhaps conscious living is just hopping from one delusion to the next, thinking oneself out of a box into another box with more room to wriggle in. you're free to call it freedom

unspoken parts of my mind cold war secrets at each other, unpublish missile crises, & my heart goes in search of forbidden fires

one must imagine sisyphus happy at times & sad at times. you're free to call it freedom

~Ajay
25/11/2020