quietly

i am irritated by almost everything, myself included. I don’t like the things I do or the acceptance i seek. i don’t actually care about almost anything at all, but i pretend to (and do a poor job of it) because right now I don’t have a better solution. All i know is, the world now seems more made of images than actual matter, and all of these images are misrepresentations of some partial fact they allude to. I hate saying anything at all about it because it’s boring and redundant and i feel boring and redundant, but then i wonder why i should care. you’re reading it, right? 

 

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