Everybody has to have their little tooth of power. Everybody wants to be able to bite.
Drive down any road, take a train or an airplane across the world, leave your old life behind, die and be born again~ wherever you arrive they'll be there first, glossy and rowdy and indistinguishable. The deep muscle of the world.
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
I feel the terror of idleness, like a red thirst. Death isn't just an idea.
Maybe the world, without us, is the real poem.
Do you love this world? Do you cherish your humble and silky life? Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?