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"Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living"
I read in National geographic that there are more people alive now that have died in all of human history. In other words, if everyone wanted to play Hamlet at once, they couldn't because there aren't enough skulls!
We need bigger pockets, I thought as I lay in bed, counting off the seven minutes that it takes a normal person to fall asleep. (...) but I knew there couldn't be pockets that enormous. In the end, everyone loses everyone. There was no invention to get around that, and so i felt like the turtle that everything else in the universe was on top of.
You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.
I thought about my small victories and everything I'd seen destroyed, I'd swum through mink coats on my parent's bed while they hosted downstairs, I'd lost the only person I could have spent my only life with, I'd left behind a thousand tons of marble, I could have released sculptures, I could have released myself from the marble of myself.
I felt, that night, on that stage, under that skull, incredibly close to everything in the universe, but also extremely alone. I wondered, for the first time in my life, if life was worth all the work it took to live. What exactly made it worth it? What's so horrible about being dead forever, and not feeling anything, and not even dreaming? What's so great about feeling and dreaming?