The Universe is getting off on experiencing itself as me, as you, as the squirrel on the nearby tree, as the nearby tree, as the bacteria on the tree, and as everything supposedly finite and personal.
All our speculations about ourselves and existence are but smoke on the water.
When it comes to life, I can safely say that I understand nothing whatsoever. And the older I get, the less I understand. Which is to say, nothing divided by nothing equals nothing. So I continue to understand: nothing whatsoever.
Poly, gender-queer, feminist robe-bunny glamazon artist into cognitive arousal / dissonance seeking to become a Unicorn in a threesome or triad with cis-gender chubby-bunny fire-twirler burner and tall queer lumberjack with nice beard.
It’s hard to recycle a pair of broken pink earbuds, as I’m also discarding a cluster of miscellaneous memories. Ah, I suppose all the memories will eventually go anyway, as all things do. Impermanence
If you want to maintain some hope for the human race, never read the Comments section. Never, never read the Comments section.
How rarely do most people step back and say: ‘What are we doing? Why are we doing this?’
Not only can I not get my act together, I don’t even know what Act I’m in
I’ve realized that I’m really more of an omnisexual daguerreotype trapped in the body of a bisexual androgyne than a polymorphously perverse sapiosexual cisgender polymath
When the majority of native French and Russians under the age of 35 you meet tell you that they don’t read much, you know literature is in trouble. (And hence, imagination, creative thinking, and wisdom are in trouble.)