heavy metal detox
vessel clutter - interstellar. the taste of my cuts lingers your tongue. too fucking happy. too beautiful for my own good. a rabbit for the wolves, carcass of honey wrestles god. because without fear - i'd have to love.
Whenever I take the subway I think about how those electronic signs are made. They probably run on javascript. It's exciting to look at something and understand how it's made. Magic may not be in the mystique, but revelation. Being non-knowing is overrated and this landscape celebrates ignorance. That ignorance stifles our most brilliant minds into believing purpose is pure material. Other people's fear of looking in is choking me out. There's something nostalgic about feeling like the opposition even if I recognize it's entirely childish. The separation between me and another is paper thin. There is an ego in the opposition.
The forbidden tongue, the expression of self defense, draws the line between them and us. I get scared of admitting this to the imaginary parental figure in my mind. I don't want to be exploited by any industry. Not just entertainment, any line of work. I want to pursue some kind of internal serenity. I want to enjoy nature and fall in love. There's this voice in my head that won't let me. The voice of generations of exploited workers soaked in reverb. It's seen as idyllic or wasteful to not dedicate your life to labor.
Like a cruel joke, work has to be unpleasant as well. That's said like a fact of nature. There are many people that love their work. What is work if not a intentional dedication? Everything you believe about the world is true. The promise of the observer. The rules exist by the grace of the law and are just suggestions.
