dec 27 in idea barrages

Sometimes I feel like faith’s a curse placed on the heads of woman and man, to blind us to the true wonder of this world by providing us with fantasies far more wild and grandiose than those extant miracles. If the scales of faith could only fall away from our eyes.

He’s just a Poe boy, nobody loves him, LENORE WON’T COME BACK, JUST ASK THE RAVEN, SPARE HIM HIS LIFE FROM THIS OLD POETRY

If you let the trauma make you want to hurt them for what they’ve done, they’ve won, you’ve become them. It’s why these things become cycles. You can’t break the cycle of abuse, individually or culturally, if you don’t let go of that. Elsewise, say hello to the new boss, same as the old boss.

A bard subclass “The College of Hipster Record Store Clerks” where you benefit from one extra level of obscurity in all situations and resistance to cold because you knew everything before it was cool.

Today’s poop-walk song for Ollie: “That bleating howl out of your throat, are you dog or are you goat, you’re furry.... and crappy… you’re furry and crappy now…”

Porky Pig singing a Neil Young song to Petunia: “Hello sowgirl in the sa - suh- sa- suh- sa - suh- beach, on the beach”

Billionaires have no damned imagination, just piling money in bunkers. Why not start a brand called Prince Mordred Flour and sell it at a loss until you bring King Arthur Flour down? No vision in you, rich boys, you only know for scoreboard and nothing for panache.

They claim to fight for blots of differentiated cells over the rights of half the human race, but that’s not what it’s about. It’s their excuse to be oppressive cruel zealots for the sake of things too small to dance on the head of a pin. That’s all. The head-rush of a crusade.