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.
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.)
Montreal doesn’t have snowstorms during the winter. Montreal IS a snowstorm during the winter.
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