selfing in progress
selfing in progress Podcast
might regret this, might not, probably will have no effect
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might regret this, might not, probably will have no effect

this one could be played on a loudspeaker in a prison yard like that aria in The Shawshank Redemption
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🎨 https://www.yurilysenko.art/artwork-abstract/golden-joker-1

a good friend’s values: tenderness, greatness, service

so an alt account reached out to me this morning, a so-called poet and artist, with a fake name and a green moon for a profile picture, and said, simply, FUCK YOU. i laughed; a colleague!

he said my singing voice sucks and my performances make him sick! probably just mad his numbers are low ~ sour grapes, poor baby! beaten up by the blinking cursor and ticking clock

“If your numbers are low, either be happy or change. Don't be sour grapes. No one's got time for that anymore, life is too hard.”
https://lefsetz.com/wordpress/2015/12/27/what-youve-got-to-know/

of course, stunting on imagined haters is the national pastime of America’s artists, because the real bogeymen and problems are mostly self-important people who are heavy barricades to progress

battling men around ego is my amusing pastime, and i’m a great player, you can see if you want to; i am as large as you can make me—keep digging and there’s more to find, a world of reflective solipsism ~ brotherhood is a chance to endure the harshness of the world together and collaborate (and maybe also compete) on making it softer, more habitable for the women and children; they need our help, or support, or witness, or listening — yes, the poet is an oracle who digests untellable secrets back into the lifestream, stripping it of nuance and context, return our bitter, jagged personal truths back into Om, disappearing into sound, being reset by the infinity bell of the present moment

trying to climb out of monstrosity into kindness—to let down and go of all this darkness, to let it sing but not rule

they thought i didn’t bite

enjoy the audio, play it along with some music, i recommend this french radio station

https://www.radiofrance.fr/fip

if you wanna blow up my life for me by telling on me to an authority whose approval and integration i depend on, go ahead: replay that ninth grade humiliation that’s been governing you until this heartbeat, it’s only entertainment, i’m already in heaven, nothing worldly fazes me here, really (or, if you wanna see, you have to come hurt me for real—maybe that’s what I crave, but don’t you?)

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