Sometimes

Sometimes I fear that all i am is a rearing of information to fill conversations.

That all i am is a collection of moments lived for the purpose of news, stories spread in conversations that are separated by coffee stirs. Perhaps I am afraid of skin on skin, and would rather distill myself with words. It's much to much pain to let myself dissolve in others.

I think change happens when a little vice falls out of a well-oiled cog. Or if a little pebble, a speck, a minuscule dust particle, allows itself, intentionally or otherwise, to be thrown down into a system of mechanics powering a great, roaring machine. Consequently, the action of fitting itself into the darkest corners of existence will inevitably destroy all of existence with one, quick sweep. This requires no deep conviction or planning, but it belongs precisely to a category of accidental intentions.