I want the good, I want the bad, and in the end I want nothing. I toss in bed, uncomfortable on my right side, on my left side, And on my consciousness of existing. I’m universally uncomfortable, metaphysically uncomfortable, But what’s even worse is my headache. That’s more serious than the meaning of the universe. Once, while walking in the country around Oxford, I saw up ahead, beyond a bend in the road, A church steeple towering above the houses of a hamlet or village. The photographic image of that non-event has remained with me Like a horizontal wrinkle marring a trouser’s crease. Today it seems relevant... From the road I associated that steeple with spirituality, The faith of all ages, and practical charity. When I arrived at the village, the steeple was a steeple And, what’s more, there it was. You can be happy in Australia, as long as you don’t go there.
To my followers that never talk to me:
i think you should talk to me now. <3