The certainty with which I explain the existence of a process is a separate variable from the certainty with which I believe a process ought exist.

And, yes, it is 4:51 am

Guessing what someone is guessing is like photocopying a photocopy

It’s when y’all don’t audiblize your guesswork that shit tends to turn sideways

My memory is vague but absolute

Sometimes you need help to stare at walls.

If a picture says a thousand words there are volumes and volumes of silence.

Contrarian drives creation
Conciliation drives civilization

#JustSayin’

Also, I guess my lord picks up where fauxinty leaves off in my sliding scale of emphasizers.

And, yes, it is 3:51 am

All these pre-conversations … I’m meant to squeeze these down to 50 minutes or less … my lord.

The scope of one’s ability to affect change scales in correlation with one’s ownership of their present. Flaws are the bees f$&king knees for gathering command. These little fuckers are a handful to face alone. I bet that is why people like to say we are stronger together.

When you sense imposter syndrome seeping through circuits powering potential value tabulations running asynchronously on localhost, per machine code compiled by self_reflection.proc

Bee tee dubs, the time to beat is 113 days, four hours, 23 minutes

Perhaps pre-anxiety is the stabilizing of the projected cat up on the cave wall.

When you are an open book that is written in a language that nobody understands.

Text me when you read this

And, yes, it is 4 o’clock

I’ve had about two weeks worth of conversation running through my head over the course of 48 hours.

This one was inaccurate. I actually allowed the lightbulb to dissipate its charge throughout a complex neural network, irreversibly obscuring that which by bulbous light one once beheld.

My most recent sweet spot

When you catch yourself wanting to maintain momentous anger in the face of anger-diffusing evidence and totally bank that feeling, fully prepared to inform your subconscious it ought sit back down and STFU next time it spikes the stream.

Goddammit, I don’t want to paint a cyber truck. But something significant has happened in Las Vegas.

I’m not only the walrus

Out of art paper. Time to trap farts.