Recently, I've been coasting, avoiding too much feeling.
Some things strike me, reading backwards: I wanted to write for myself, for family, for the selves we fail to be, fail to become and forget. For truth that, in that instant of experience, we recognised.
Humans fall into the trap of categorising their beliefs. Was looking over a relative's old papers today. Legal stuff being shredded. Personal property, rights to justice being churned by steel paper shredder teeth.
There are no recognised rights except those we fight for. The law is a screen of lies--this is what KY was saying that day--but is that really so different from life? Law just makes the deception that much starker.
Words after all are lies.