​

Can reality be said to objectively exist, outside of the shared communal perception of it that our species has constructed? 

 

How can ‘the present’ be credited as an actual state when, by its own nature, it vanishes as soon as you acknowledge it? And how can the future exist as anything but a permanent hypothetical? 

 

What’s ultimately the more satisfying emotional experience - a profound and pleasurable melancholy or a forced veneer of socially-mandated ‘happiness’? 

 

Is nostalgia not the most seductive and dangerous of all potential addictions? 

 

How can we trust the veracity of our memories when they’re merely the result of other peoples’ shared perceptions and our own endlessly-revising version of the past? 

 

Does life’s innate impermanence render love more meaningful, beauty more heart-rending?

 

​

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How are any of us brave enough to love someone, knowing that at the end of a life we’re bound to forever part ways? 

 

Can we ever really know another person’s heart and trust them entirely, when we have no evidence of their own objective reality outside of our own interactions with them? 

 

Which are the more compelling remembrances to carry through a life: the dark ones we carry with us and are meant to learn from, or the revisionist impression of fleeting bliss we rely upon for solace?

 

Is the ultimate summation of a lifetime of experiences our responsibility to carry our pasts with us into a presumed theoretical future?

 

How much of our landscape exists for the benefit of its own unknowable purpose, rather than as mere reflection of our species’ imprint upon it?

 

Are we collectively willing the apocalypse into existence as a secret societal longing for sweeping paradigm change? 

 

Is the collapse of an empire the tragic death throes of a history and a culture, or a necessary periodic clearing away of aging overgrowth to allot space for the new?

​