After he suffered the hornet sting there was no inhibition. He returned to the door; the hole found carved out of the wood. Buzzing about above he watched them set to attack. He raised the can and shot the foam. The goop drowned them all. An honest kill. In an instant he recognizes it is the only way to die.
You cannot embody subjectivity until you become Evil. In the same way, you cannot know other people without embodying them. To know yourself is human. To know others is superhuman.
I have always only been able to read a little at a time. I want hit hard, upfront, to get free. I work all day building or repairing or maintaining or purchasing that I go dry on the flow of words and days pass where day and night turn on
POTH STORY: a mother is dying. She is becoming delirious. As she nears death, she stares at her son, who she does not really recognize. She asks him who he is. He finds himself telling her that he is an angel sent to help her. He makes up a bunch
Yuh know.
