I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees. I would rather live on my feet than survive on my knees---because if it brings me to my knees, it’s a bad religion.
Philosophy is gumming up my mind---too often it feels like I am rearranging bricks that are much heavier than I initially imagined. Isn’t it horrible that promiscuity has gotten such a bad rap? I wanna be open to fucking, getting fucked by, and commingling with anything and anyone at any point---bodies, concepts, the way the cold wind bites my neck through the gap in my scarf. Promiscuity affirms the multiplicity of everything because everything is other things.
I’m fairly sure that headphones have saved my life---these little plastic buds block out so much modern refuse, allow me to escape the total assault of supermarkets, the blathering chatter of common sense that surrounds me. Garbage in, garbage out. I would rather not and it’s not really a judgement even though it sounds that way. You do you---I’d rather find affinity than argue.
