I rewrote the first sentence of this particularly unwieldy piece of prose a dozen times before settling for one that felt right. It was important that...
The most tragic human proclivity is to take things for granted. Think of the change in the seasons. An undeniable mark of the passage of time,...
The divine is dead; men saw to its execution. They replaced the moral teachings of Christianity with a void of potential, and in doing so precipitated the most disastrous display of human savagery the world had ever seen.
Much too often, I find myself musing over how fleeting life is. I don’t suppose I fear death, yet I am afraid of dying. People worry...
The weight of the stars, he called it, that elusive, ineffable thought that burdened him so. Eccentric, they called him in turn, dismissing that unorthodox shell of self-conscious inelegance as another man, who, just isn’t quite right in the head.
Who knew that the business of saving the world from unfathomable evil involved so many frequent episodes of lubricious boot-knocking?
In this inundated market of half-hearted literary adaptations, where the only competition seems to revolve around who gets to produce the single most mediocre and insulting...
Even now, after all these years, I guess I’m still trying to find the words. It’s not easy getting around this… existential dread. Even now, I’m not entirely sure how it all works. But I think, or rather I hope, that when life prevails outside the bounds of our unremarkable day-to-day struggle to get by, you begin to see it.
