I sit simultaneously at the edge of the universe, and trapped in a small dingy room I am saddened to see I've left my mark on. The vast nothingness of the stars and ether close enough for my fingertips to graze, in a room I'm too afraid to leave. Knowing my meaninglessness is merely reality is calming in an overwhelming sort of way. Accepting the depths of space and time running in a current around me even as I lie motionless on a stale futon. Is this, perspective? Or an excuse?
Some accumulation of hangovers so potent in their exponentially charged fold they can alter reality? If alcohol changes our brain chemistry, maybe a hangover can change our immediate surroundings. Perhaps the answer is everyone needs to get properly shitfaced all at once, and the next morning our shakes and spins will reorder the particles of the world for... peace? harmony? No, we would squander it all on some toast with butter and strong coffee.
Some accumulation of hangovers so potent in their exponentially charged fold they can alter reality? If alcohol changes our brain chemistry, maybe a hangover can change our immediate surroundings. Perhaps the answer is everyone needs to get properly shitfaced all at once, and the next morning our shakes and spins will reorder the particles of the world for... peace? harmony? No, we would squander it all on some toast with butter and strong coffee.
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