Abstract thought disposal

Alone lies beyond lonely, free of values and emotion. It is pure, awesome and awful, the biggest coldest fucking. I fill the nothingness surrounding me with anything really, but I prefer very big themes.

Art comes to those who can hold alone within them, see beyond the illusion, recognize that they are part of the yawning void, feel it as their destiny and maybe even love it a little. Art is coping with that.

I may arrive, but I doubt there is a destination. I can console myself. As always, pork rinds, chicharrones, remain delicious and available.
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