I am so sick of reading about thermal burns and Sammy Sampas and Senator McCarthy.

[vanitashaze]

Just... God. Love and hate and saintly motorcyclists, the sound of rain on the windows, "Howl" echoing in my ears and 70,000 deaths on the page. See, it's right there, such a clear and precise and fucking sterile representation of

1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person + 1 person, times ten, times a hundred, SEVENTY THOUSAND, and even that cannot sum up the sheer amount that's fucking LOST with every death, their own small epics of love and irrelevancies and careless cruelties, all that makes you you, and so, perhaps this is the only way, imagine yourself times seventy thousand, and imagine yourself dead, and imagine them together.

All of this and thousands more: Nanjing, Dresden, Darfur, Haiti, blood-rust and sweet decay and fuck you, Kerouac, fuck you, Peter Martin - fuck you and the Old Testament you rode in on - don't you DARE shy away from Alexander's hand, shy away from Sammy's, because after all this, you're so fucking trivial, you're such a grain of sand on the beach, and

Jesus Christ, humanity, when are we going to get our shit together?