I notice that Autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature.
Do you still perform autopsies on conversations you had lives ago?
Donte Collins’ 13 (after Patricia Smith)
I heard a joke once: Man goes to the doctor. Says he’s depressed, life is harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world. Doctor says, “treatment is simple. The great clown Pagliacci is in town. Go see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. “But Doctor” he says, “I am Pagliacci.”
It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.