Introversion – thirteen


We have a fetish for solitude


You’re not lonely enough until you’ve slummed in it for so long that the loneliest you can be is around people.

At that point, people are dead; you may as well attend their funeral en masse and pray for them.

Wear your black dress forever for humanity.

Sprinkle dirt dust on all their faces as you pass them by, they’re dead anyway and they won’t know what it means.

So they’ll fight you not realising their mother earth just caressed them, calling them back from the dead and to the living.

A noble sage once said, ‘People are asleep and when they die, they awaken.’


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