Good Friday

I walk into the room dripping in gold.

The gold falls off me.

A lot of the time I'm coming back to my blog to try and make some sense of what I wrote about three or four years ago. It just goes to show how much I've lost the way since then, how much less I understand about the world. Hey, maybe that's a good thing, that I've been deconstructed and must make a new sense of the world I'm in.
I've gotten close to new people, people who have had experiences I could never imagine being in, for good or bad. This kinda ties back to the earlier post about caring for people without disturbing their lives. I won't elaborate, but people lead some heavy lives and still manage to find happiness outside of the shit. That's admirable, but what can you do about stuff that happened in the past? You treat them as they are in the present. The past is the past and it is to be left there. To rot, and be forgotten.

I guess in the grand scheme of things, you can't tell people how to live their lives. But if they seek help, you fucking give it to them. You give them everything you've got.


What else has been happening. . .

More muddled feelings about objects of desire. To hate/love them. I should just forget about them, I suppose.

That was the best piece of advice I've ever been given.