Suffering cannot be eliminated.
Nor should it be.
I wish to free myself from the bonds I have been forging around my soul. Or, rather, I want to see the bonds as armor.
I wish for five goddamn minutes I’d just shut the fuck up and live.
Of course, I live hard. I do. I live like five hundred motherfuckers.
Yes, I am compromised. Flawed. Recalcitrant.
That’s fine, though.
I am still a certified bad-ass.
I’ma go cook the woman on the verge some seared wild-caught salmon and lime and garlic black beans with a spicy mayo dollop on top.
Eat yr hearts out.