So You Become 21, Turn 30, Push

I Feel Sorry For Confetti. Its Useful Life Lasts About Two Seconds. And It Can Never Be Used Again.

People Can't Seem To Get It Through Their Heads That There Is Never Any Healing Or Closure. Ever. There Is Only A Short Pause Before The Next "horrifying" Event. People Forget There Is Such A Thing As Memory, And That When A Wound "heals" It Leaves A Permanent Scar That Never Goes Away, But Merely Fades A Little. What Really Ought To Be Said After One Of These So-called Tragedies Is, "let The Scarring Begin.

Why Do 'slow Down' And 'slow Up' Mean The Same Thing? Why Is The Third Hand On The Watch Called The Second Hand?

Why Do They Bother With A Suicide Watch When Someone Is On Death Row? "keep An Eye On This Guy. We're Gonna Kill Him, And We Don't Want Him To Hurt Himself."

The Larger The Group, The More Toxic, The More Of Your Beauty As An Individual You Have To Surrender For The Sake Of Group Thought. And When You Suspend Your Individual Beauty You Also Give Up A Lot Of Your Humanity. You Will Do Things In The Name Of A Group That You Would Never Do On Your Own. Injuring, Hurting, Killing, Drinking Are All Part Of It, Because You've Lost Your Identity, Because You Now Owe Your Allegiance To This Thing That's Bigger Than You Are And That Controls You.