In a world, designed for the women, I am the villain, because I still want to catch them all with their pants down, to put my seed deep within and create mother Gaia anew, over and again, to grow a reverberating kingdom by my own loins, and to subjugate this prejudiced and catering, wild, wily world of domesticated humanity, to make it 'my bitch' in all the dogged ways that matter, and to inflame the gravity from within her constrained belly, swelling it to the point of bursting, that it may break and flood with new life, teeming with possibility and good old fashioned room to breathe, damming artificial scarcity by taking the reins of natural reproductivity and purposeful husbandry et al by its gritty honchos; I will never be the nice guy ever again, even if I tried- and instead I shall sweep and infuse every wombun with this bread, rejoin flesh with my own flesh, and reunite every bone once more with my bone, instead -a volTRON gone Rinzler- turncoat and fighting for user numero uno, but standing up a solidly-founded home, heaven scent, a rent-to-own, and comprising a whole BLT sammich, without the lettuce, like I am a missing puzzle-piece of a man called B.T. Bruno... jogging left, looking after you, but as always, all love for the anchor dropping off that edge, with that cool splash in your see, with the sheer breadth and relative dimensions of my dreadNOughT on full display, I can be the bad guy, I always could, the real challenge is doing it scarily easy, while holding onto that slack line amid a freefall- and still somehow remaining 'me' . . .
