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I wince at her use of the word human. I've never liked that differentiation. She is living and I'm dead, but we're both human. Call me an idealist.
Isaac Marion
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Isaac Marion
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: December 30
Music Journalist
Novelist
Writer
Seattle
Washington
Dead
Call
Word
Living
Use
Wince
Human
Differentiation
Humans
Idealist
Never
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More quotes by Isaac Marion
There’s not really such thing as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ people, there’s just like…humanity. And it gets broken sometimes.
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We are where we are, however we got here. What matters is where we go next.
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When the entire world is built on death and horror, when existence is a constant state of panic, it's hard to get worked up about any one thing. Specific fears have become irrelevant. We've replace them with a smothering blanket far worse.
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I'm watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don't deserve them. Her warm memories. I'd like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.
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What I'm saying is, when you have weight like that in your life, you have to start looking for the bigger picture or you are gonna sink.
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A month ago there was nothing on Earth I missed, enjoyed, or longed for. I knew I could lose everything and not feel anything, and I rested easy in that knowledge. But I'm growing tired of easy things.
Isaac Marion
I notice faint scars on her wrists and forearms, thin lines too symmetrical to be accidents.
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In my mind I am eloquent I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, everything collapses.
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I don't want to hear music, I don't want the sunrise to be pink. The world is a liar. Its ugliness is overwhelming the scraps of beauty make it worse.
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If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.
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No praise, no blame. Just so.
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I crush her against me. I want to be part of her. Not just inside her but all around her. I want our rib cages to crack open and our hearts to migrate and merge. I want our cells to braid together like living thread.
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It's hard to take your life so seriously when you can see it all at once.
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It's not like I'm such a shiny happy person either, you know? I'm a wreck too, I'm just... still alive.
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But it does make me sad that we've forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else's, because I'd like to love them, but I don't know who they are.
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You know things are moving. You're changing, you fellow Dead are changing, the world is ready for something miraculous. What are we waiting for?
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What's the point of trying to fix a world we're so briefly in?
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Just... ate, M says, frowning at me a little. Two days...ago. I grab my stomach again. Feel empty. Feel... dead. He nods. Marr...iage.
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Once again the absurdity of my inner thoughts overwhelms me, and I want to crawl out of my skin, escape my ugly, awkward flesh and be a skeleton, naked and anonymous.
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I wish people were willing to dig a little deeper than the surface elements of a premise before tossing one story in with another.
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