brands are gods we outsource our value to. it’s the same way that an image of god is constructed to be perfect, far removed, and foreign and praised for how separate it is from humanity instead of recognizing the godhood that is innate in us all. we value what we don’t have in an endless pursuit of that which is outside of ourselves. mindless entropy. samsara

kellogg martin

i like the design of the goose but i don’t like the goose’s software

makes no sense to me that bare boobs are not seen as a powerful symbol of strength and superiority. i see them and salute, not as a lesbian but as a child of god

“this town ain’t big enough for the two of us” the cowboy is afraid of intimacy. he fears that he is unlovable and so shoots his lover down before the blow of what he believes is inevitable rejection and abandonment can land. but his lover was not going to hurt him, the real killer was the fear of being out of control, which is always the case in matters of the heart. the cowboy lives a lonely life by choice, because if pain is the only constant, he thinks, then he may as well pick his own poison. those spurs on his boots are an attempt to keep the past far behind him lest he remember what could have been if he would have chosen differently. who he could’ve been if he would’ve allowed himself to believe in more

love doesn’t feel constricting. it is in the act of letting go. i look back with love but my stomach clenches at the memory of how it felt to be misunderstood by you. i love and let go knowing that the current never stops flowing. i revel in the freedom of necessary loss. things that were pulled from my aching fingers against my will. the clear and steady voice telling me what is love and wiping my tears reassuring me that my home is not in guilt, unjust devotion, in submission, in self denial. i let go and i am free. i allow destruction to clear the way for the growth my heart fosters

i was at the astral gardens last night gliding on a tour of the giant square art installation and shrubbery before the waters and you weren’t even there

“oatmeal raisin” “carrot cake” what’s next, tomato pastry? sour cream surprise? we don’t have to punish ourselves to get into heaven

saltine like the cracker sounds like a burlesque lady’s name. if she was salty

adhd has me on the wikipedia page for harriet tubman at 5 in the morning. i’m researching gum