The masses-I love em-they rush for red lights, risking everything to capture a few seconds, only to get home and waste their lives.

Perhaps the price of comfort is that life passes more rapidly. But for anyone who has lived in uneasiness, even for a short, memorable duration, it's a trade-off that will gladly be made.

I lay in bed and watched moments break into phenomenal particles of panic and could actually see the divine crack of God’s ass as he completely turned his back on me.

Is it so wrong to just live life and enjoy it? Between fun and function, why must we choose the latter?

When I was in my teens, I made an appraisal of how comfortable my life could turn out when I became the age I am now. Because of a mechanical failure, the prediction was inexact.

If I want to build wealth to transfer to the next generation, I can let it grow on a tax-free basis.

As the components of your life are stripped away, after all the ambitions and hopes vaporize, you reach a self-reflective starkness-- the repetitious plucking of a single overwound string.