Cloud Noir Weekly

With each day I see more life than I saw yesterday.  Looking back on myself it's like a highway of death and destruction, such as you see on the news, lined with blown up cars, trucks, and tanks smoldering in broken pieces.  My past self is a pathetic creature, bruised and bewildered.  

I'm happy that I've improved.  

Philosophy is different for different ages.  A person's thinking at thirty won't be the same at seventy.  If it is, then that person isn't a thinker.  Barely a person, in some sense.  More like ape than angel.  

A real human changes, more willingly than not.  Changing is living.  Like night and day, winter and summer.