Cȯsꭑọ ∴ ọꭑƨȯƆ @cosmiccitizen@schelling.pt

There's some really grim lyrics coming out of the ass-rock / ass-rap-rock genres these days. I'm listening to these guys working next to me and it's like, "I am incapable of feeling sincere emotions anymore. My whole life is a performance and I long for the grave to give definition to my life."

Sometimes I think about the guy who I knew from Scouts who got massive burns on his chest at a campout. I knew his first girlfriend. He became a research scientist.

What is his life like now?
Does he still have scars?
What does he think about them?

"it's called BOUNDARIES sweaty and it means you have to do what I say"

All the jots are correct, but the tittles are a fucking trainwreck.

Oh yeah, I have all the correct opinions. People approve of what I think, deep down.

This is the black rectangle that turns frozen flesh into hot food. This is the black rectangle that turns dots and dashes into pictures and music. This is the black rectangle that turns my inner life into someone else's problem.

What did I say about Kandinsky?

In western politics we have a bunch of vanguards pulling elite persuasion campaigns while waiting for a mass movement to catch up with them. Meanwhile, the masses that would constitute a movement are only willing to do shoe-on-head not-even-wrong stuff.

Remember what Carse says: performatively low status is an anti-title. To play at being below everything, to posit a conspicuous absence, is the same move as playing above everything.

Sometimes the way that grown-ups shout "I'M IN CHARGE I'M IN CHARGE" is by withholding information and shooting down the contributions of everyone around.

If I'm talking to a person and they reference the concept of balance then I stop taking them seriously.

"Balance" is the fakest thing to have ever existed. Complete cope.

Look, folks, there's only one forbidden fruit and only one vengeful Source. Eco socialism needs to get its own metaphysics.