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September 8 - September 12, 2024
The greater tragedy of our world is not the victims of cruelty, but that so many of those victims would, given the opportunity, stand in the shoes of their oppressors and wield the same whip with equal enthusiasm.
Every loss of consequence creates within us a cavity in which that ache makes a home. An empty space full of sorrow. A void in which silent screams can echo, and unshed tears may pool. Some losses are so great they hollow us. We are cored. Nothing but skin wrapped around the hurt we’ve become.
But even the cheapest toy, die-stamped and disgorged from mechanical bowels on conveyor belts, has a place where a child might hang their heart. The power of a fresh imagination is such that the meanest vessel can hold miracles.
For grief the only true cure is patience. For patience there is no cure.
A story is how you tell yourself truths you’re not brave enough to hear.
To prevent the spread of any idea, true, false, or untestable, one simply needs a more compelling narrative to occupy the minds of those you wish to keep ignorant.
When the flesh has rotted from them there is little difference between a city and a skull. Both watch you with empty eyes and the kind of grin that will follow you home.
There are few journeys more painful than going back to a place you haven’t seen in many years. If you are lucky, it will have changed beyond recognition and, by having done so, will allow you to ignore the still larger changes in yourself.
Advancing from finger paints to the quill pen enabled writers to whisper more prettily. The printing press allowed them to shout.
Knowledge without wisdom is fire in the hands of children.
The wait for the world to tell you that you’re special can be a long and lonely one. Better to get off your arse and let it know that you are.

