i really want to move out to focus on my ed
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

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@luciteteeth
i really want to move out to focus on my ed
kiko by john carroll kirby
Numerous reports state that in the midst of ceremonies the Pleroma Dome will, occasionally, transform itself into a multi-dimensional hyper-object— a truly phantasmagorical feat, but one which should come as no surprise. After all, hallucination is all around us and it’s what allows us to touch upon reality. Our ability to interpret symbols, for instance, is innately hallucinatory: reading the word ‘dog’ conjures one into the mind’s eye. This suggests that all creativity and production of meaning, all acts of communication and understanding, and even the phenomenon of thought itself is really all about hallucinating. It suggests that we don’t sleep in order to keep living, but keep living in order to sleep and, perchance, to dream of a new future.
everyday i step on my silly little scale, lose my silly little weight and continue my silly little life
I have made a habit of maybe romanticizing doom…
Rick Owens, in reference to his ss 2018 show
:•) honk !
literally saw a call out one time where it was like
“he microwaved his pet hamster.
And he kins evil dangan ronpa characters.
And he sexually harasses people in discord”
“Culture replaces authentic feeling with words. As an example of this, imagine an infant lying in its cradle, and the window is open, and into the room comes something, marvelous, mysterious, glittering, shedding light of many colors, movement, sound, a transformative hierophany of integrated perception… and the child is enthralled and then the mother comes into the room and she says to the child, “that’s a bird, baby, that’s a bird,“ instantly the complex wave of the angel peacock iridescent transformative mystery is collapsed, into the word. All mystery is gone, the child learns, “this is a bird, this is a bird”, and by the time we’re five or six years old all the mystery of reality has been carefully tiled over with words… This is a bird, this is a house, this is the sky, and we seal ourselves in within a linguistic shell of disempowered perception…”
— Terence McKenna
Anne Carson
we are out here, fearing meat
My body is like a field wasted by winter.
Lady Ise, tr. by Etsuko Terasaki and Irma Brandeis, from “My Body Is Like A Field,”
“We sense that there can be no true communion between human beings until they have in fact become beings: for to be able to give oneself one must have taken possession of oneself in that painful solitude outside of which nothing belongs to us and we have nothing to give.…And one might even say that I begin to communicate with others as soon as I begin to communicate with myself. So true it is that the most tragic solitude is that which keeps me from forcing the barrier between what I think I am from what I am: because then my consciousness has become such a stranger to my true self and my distress is so great that I can no longer say what I desire nor what I lack. Solitude is to feel the presence in oneself of a power that cannot act, but which, as soon as it is able to, obliges me to realize myself by multiplying my relations with myself and with all human beings.”
— Louis Lavelle, from Le Mal Et La Souffrance