I think too much “self-care” is dangerous. Not because its harmful in the immediate sense of the word, but its possible that ritual brings repression in a person. Not everything you’re looking for is in the earth, or in a book someone else wrote teaching you how to read signs, or dissect some cool philosophy.
They’ve warned me about the clinging witch vibrating in colors. So burst, watch the cattle dazzle themselves at the food troughs of their abhorrent America.
Familiarity is cool, but it’ll turn your edge into a low energy baboon. But if you do it wearing a giant rat-tail who whispers sweet young ideals in your ear, its can be glorious for a moment.
As soon as I got out of the car, the smell of smoke, porch laughter, and music engulfed my body. A sensory tingle, the invisible lizard came out of his shelter and crawled up the back of my neck; that orgasmic feeling which props up your follicles for a second.
The mind is a daydream of graffiti, fruiting like sex spawning the fawn. The paradox of you dresses and walks, exists, talks and sends signals. The occurring evolution in us all is the throwback of our original animal language.
The things that define me, keep me from making progress. I guess I just kept eating all my eggs, hoping it would change. I’m not sure if it works, but kicking that bear’s ass, in front of an old lady, certainly moved some kind of marker for me to let it go and begin again.
I started to read the audition sheet they wanted me to memorize in a short time. Pick one of five brands, each with a paragraph describing a new product. One of them was McDonald’s, It was for some new chicken bullshit. Everyone in the room was white, and it felt like we were all eating at a bad cafeteria whose owner loved 1950s color red, bubblegum, and very high gloss.
Big Ears has turned into our weekend, a time for us to melt in the fabric of collective consciousness, to fit into the pretty showing of experimentations, mutated by the creative purveyors at A/C Entertainment.