Sublime

opulent

Having employed my self-awareness in such a purely artistic way, and having become so completely external to myself, I sometimes no longer recognize myself. Who am I behind this unreality? I don’t know. I must be someone. And if I avoid living, acting and feeling, then believe me, it’s so as not to tamper with the contours of my invented personalit

protoexistentialist

exhaustion was the status quo.

“To get something important, people have to pay a price. That’s the rule the world operates by.”

I was going downtown to kill a man who hadn’t done a damned thing to me, to kill an old guy whose only fault as far as I knew was throwing chewing gum wrappers in the street. I was going to kill him because I wanted money more than I wanted him to live and I was going to kill him filthily. Or maybe I wasn’t. Maybe he was going to kill me and go on

acuity

A human life was about to end, but the balls kept pouring forth in an endless stream. It felt as if someone was making fun of him.

Emotional hurt is the price a person has to pay in order to be independent.