"Love is the final indication you have succeeded, yet few formally succeed. But in the measurements, the measurements that we seem to think are working, we can't always tell what is honest, and what is the infection under the scab of a fresh cut."
Seemingly, this is supposed to make sense.
But I think I need to stop writing out ramblings while I sleep, because things aren't really making much sense, anymore.
But. All in all, that's nonsense. And nonsense is everything.