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It is easy to damage the quiet fragile things carelessly, to break and maim without even noticing.
Life is rarely as neat and tidy as we would like. I prefer it that way. Reason is just one of the many important ways of experiencing the world.
My memory for the names of things is not what it was: it doesn’t seem important for me to try and remember. The answer will come of its own accord, or it won’t. Words have a different existence to the things they name: they live in different places, have different lives.
The only permanent things about man are his waste. Natural things decay. There is a bittersweet state of existence that all natural things go through, a stage when they stop being what they were and start being something else. I think I am at that point.