My head's not a great place to be stuck in.
Now I can think about the world, truly think about it.
Impossibility is sort of phantasmagoria and we go after it not knowing what it is.
The library is made by its readers and the writers.
We smudged all the lines, our personalities representing the fissures between right and wrong.
In this era of fake news, fake degrees and fake people, fake research, etc. how can anyone claim to be an intellectual?
If I look back into the past my whole life has been a quest for belonging.