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Between rough buildings, frail wilted trees stand proud, basking in the cold of an aged grey sky
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Then you realise that cells don’t form isms, and that particles don’t kill each other. That a million stars explode in the space between breath. Space burns. Blue sky stretches far above. And there is no death in the undying beauty of what is, within and without everything, from which we can barely even see.
Well... it can be if you let it.After college I worked at a telemarketing agency, you know...the cubicle drone kinda job.First one I could get my hands on, and I was happy with it for a while. But it doesn’t have to be. He had a sweeping pessimism in his nature. I think, that if you’re the object of what do for a living, and you truly see yourself in it, then it’s liberating, more than you know.That’s why I quit. I might start writing something, anything.Something creative at least. Maybe a screenplay, maybe about this conversation, about KARL.