When one is alighted with conversation, they feel themselves slip upon things as ice on hot stone. They melt before the world, and no words will win them their solidity. Indeed, each word passes as a lousy liquid, a lie whose truth cannot to fruition come.
Words’ Lousy Liquid
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Published by misteramazing
A creator at the intersection of culture and criticism. Interested in rational accounts of society, criticism of social contradictions, and the improvement of average-everyday conditions. View all posts by misteramazing