I wrote this at 3.20a.m., May 16, last year.
“We are nothing but small scales, like that on fish and reptiles; eventually flaking away. The continuity of our emotions; the fibers of our being, into the ebb and flow of the universe. All of these amounts to nothing in the end. We are all the same, no differentiation. The meaning of our existence, lost in the dead beats of our life. Impermanence is a fact.”
I can’t remember how I came about with that… It’s a weird feeling browsing through old writings. I think much of how I write — tone and shiz — has changed, even within this short a span of time. I sort of wonder if I still think the same way as I did when I wrote that. It’s hard to judge now.