outwait outrun outwit


an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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05.29.03, thursday evening

(i feel dead. i should be happy; i have a job. but i feel dead. i have always wanted meaning in everything i do, but it seems that, as the years pass, meaning gets lost in the effort to eke out a living. or rather, meaning happens after work, in projects that become hobbies you pick up when you're not exhausted or stunned by the meaninglessness of your labor. was this what my parents encountered? well, at least my father will be happy; i have a job, however entangled with one man's quixotic project.)


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