When every thought you have seems facile and trite to you, I suppose you can assume without undue conceit that you are approaching some basic level of literacy.
It’s one thing to take risks; it’s quite another to be reckless or even devil-may-care.
Gotta grow up. Gotta keep bottles sealed. Gotta realize that to traverse is irreversibly to bisect.
Watch that unconsidered math, boy. Don’t just go around putting the measure to things willy-nilly unless you are ready to determine the universe. After all, to play God is sublime, but sublimation is a kind of ecstatica for which few are prepared—against which few are protected.
What am I even talking about?
I am my own prophet, my own idiot, and my own swindler. As are, I suppose, we all.