After a few rounds, and rhomboids, one tavern philosopher would ofttimes verbally ruminate on his most favored subject, “The Abominable Splendor Of Guilt.”
Keep reminding yourself,
“It’s just a hobby.”
Rituals arise from someone, who was once on the way to somewhere, getting lost, then getting frightened, then making up a desperate ceremony to ward off the shadows of confusion and fear.
If it’ll make you famous,
it’ll make you sick.
A certain city poet announced, “The lie that flatters, I abhor the most, I mean, adore the most…I mean…ah, check with me tomorrow.”