He loved the way each moment gave way to the next one. No he didnae, that was a lie. It wasn't that he didn't love it, it was just irrelevant. Often he found it disgusting or terrifying, reality that is. It could be intoxicating and sublime as well though, for sure.
There was the infantile aspect to consider as well, about other people, his friends, how they could be so infantile. It was disappointing.
The sublime pulse of moments. He wasn't sure how to behave sometimes. All the moments-to-be, stacked up, no wonder he felt waves of horror and existential heeby jeebies.
And how did any of this come about? He didn't recall lending his approval to this set of circumstances.
Engaging with various things, that was the key. The quality of the light, the avoidance of human beings with their affectations and
Abstract concepts were preferable
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