At Dark, I Become Loathsome

by Eric LaRocca

I’ve learned that human decency only exists when it’s convenient. The rest of the time, we’re feral creatures tirelessly spinning against the whitewater current of rapids bearing us down and carrying us toward an infinite black sea.

There is nothing exceptional about being alive. I know this to be certain. There’s no secret meaning to our lives, no grand reason for our existence. We are merely the human equivalent of a paramecium in a petri dish. The sooner we realize that, the better.

when you know someone’s name, they belong to you in a certain intimate way. You can call upon them and they will come to you.