Life resembles Fight Club.
Everything is so derivative.
That sketch where you’re driving along and realise you’ve been zoned out for ten miles feels like a lot of my thirties.
For a non-subscriber to free-will, I sure can beat myself up about “decisions”.
Within my control, outside my control, it’s the same damn thing.
It’s a perception about a perception.
It should be enough to say: I am gone choiceless.
I am gone choiceless, and my heart is at peace.