Night Angel Nemesis

I'm the sacrifice everyone is willing to make.

People who sacrifice their relationships, their families, and their health in pursuit of some ideal or dream are often useful to a community, but they are lopsided. The father who spends every waking hour with his research or his art or his reign may bless all the world, maybe, but he certainly brings untold misery to his spouse and his children—never asking if they wish to sacrifice their father for such long odds. He is a tyrant, a man collapsed into a single dimension, less a man than a beast, yet all too often, we praise him. We’re so greedy for what geniuses may give us, so selfish for our own gain that we call them unselfish. We speak of their sacrifice. Could we be more blind?

I don’t know if you’ve ever had your life saved by your favorite beautiful woman in the world, but if you haven’t, I highly recommend it.

That's what love is; love means showing up, even when you can't fix anything. It means being there.

You ever go to that place where melancholy feels good? Where you feel you've attained some sort of purity of suffering, a blackness of mood so deep and unrelieved that it's aesthetically pleasing? Where your self-punishment becomes self-abuse?

Mankind has always excelled at collective punishment. Justice, not so much.

There's something rattling around in my chest, a hollow discontent, but maybe no one ever gets rid of that; maybe that's just the pain that lets you know you're alive. How could I want any more than this? I'm fine.

Odd how heartbreak can clarify things. Or perhaps it´s not odd. Isn´t the whole point of tears to clear our eyes?

Monsters love Mother Night, and I am her favorite son.

A baby is the space between a mouth and an anus, with no responsibility for either.

I guess it reminded me that touch can be healing.

pouring their buckets of muddy light into the crystal waters of the sky.