Grumbly Bits
The latter was written at some point in the last few days. I am currently in a place where my migraine becomes unbearable easily, and I keep pushing myself past the line when I try to figure out how all of this works. This has shown me how I am not very go with the flow on such things. I will get there eventually, but I'm finding the editing, etc a bit off putting. I'm probably not doing something correctly, but I swear this is clunkier than the journals from the 90s. That makes no sense. Hence it likely user error.
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How do we burn? In the flickers of yesterday's aggression, or the promise of tomorrow's future? At what point do we stop drowning our children with the obscenities of a wealthy ignorance? When each step is a rattling cage, how can we hear any substance of truth?
Half-blind and jacking off to a false modesty, we bid stupor to the obvious—both oblivious and wise. Little more than puppets on parade to stroke the not-so-cunning disaster. How glorious our stranglehold.
Perhaps we'll get lucky...and choke on it.
Written July 30, 2026 © 2026 AnOublietteofThought.