Think this is it?
It’s gonna get fun from here.
We haven’t even reached second grade yet. Modern scum.
You emptied yourself to be acceptable. I emptied myself to live. I have nothing. You’ve got diminishing returns and a bank account.
You are only now becoming dimly aware that it’s all going to end. I’ve already been there and back again. What I do now is solid granite; your actions are balsa wood. How many more dinner parties and projects and journaling can you robot through?
My division is nuclear fusion, a source unending; you are still adding houses, jobs, vacations, friends, birthday parties to that gaping yawning abyss to see if it will retreat for a time. Why didn’t you just drop in a long time ago?
Therapy sessions are the mortar of your tower of babel; the higher you get, the more scrambled the language. At least everyone else you know is the same kind of scrambled in that rarefied air on the way to the top. The bricks are your guilt and the guilt you’ve let enter you so that you don’t have to go and sell everything you own such that you could have treasure in heaven.
More mortar dinner parties; shore up the cracks.
New year; friends to listen and nod and validate your thoughts which drip with the juices of the picked apple.
It’s okay.
Wealth is good; racism is the sole great evil everyone needs to focus on first and foremost.
God rewards those who have Bible studies with their friends. You just need to care for people more and listen to and validate the thoughts of your friends.
Ferment all those apples continually “falling” from their trees. They aren’t picking them, that’s just their experience.
More mortar.
Anew Principium 