I can’t believe I wrote the last post.
Goddamn, I can’t believe it was me who wrote the last post, Firefly on a starry night.
The original thought that came to me two days ago, the thought that was going to be the entire post, is no longer the heart or essence of the post. It was this line—
“If I keep looking at all this glitter while my ears are fixed to the river, I feel as if the sound is coming not from the river but the heavens above.”
—that occurred to me while stargazing with my dear friend Yash, and he was the first to hear it. And look what I made out of that one line, in less than two hours.
When I produce something like this and so swiftly, which I have done occasionally throughout this blog and throughout my life, I think to myself that this big head that I have been given, big in proportion to the body, the headache of carrying it all my life on my tired neck has been so worth it.
Therefore, I prove myself to be as smart as I think I am, and I prove it for myself alone, not caring for whether anyone else cares.