[BTS1] Brigdon

Grinding rails from the train up on the elevated tracks evaporated into the night’s traffic. Sparks spilled over the side of the riveted steel bridge and were lost in the pollution of neon signs, headlamps, and street vendor lanterns. As the blocks spun by, she could only think of the hours that she had spent in these twisted corridors. The days that had gone by in this alien landscape within the press of some ten million other people.

The lights in the train car flickered and she caught a glimpse of herself in the window. Getting older, the bags darkening under her eyes, tired eyes, eyes that no longer knew what to look for, no longer knew what signs would bring meaning back. Somewhere in the routines she had lost something. Something was left behind in taxes and faces and mistakes that kept coming back to haunt her in stabs and jolts. The cars buckled uneasily around the next bend.

“What am I doing?” She said to her blurred reflection in the window and then looked past to the cityscape. As the train came out over the river the lights and millions of people faded away and for a moment all that remained was the dark river of sloshing darkness under the bridge. It was a black void.

She turned away from the window and looked about the dingy train car, the green lights flickered over the graffiti stained walls and the shimmering silver bars and the plastic red seats. She was alone.

She wondered where real friends were, wondered why she felt so strange, like something was about to happen, but nothing ever changed, caught somewhere between the comfort and security of routine and just utter boredom with no good way out. Where was the adventure life was supposed to take her on? The strange anxiety of being trapped in the moment rose in her throat and she closed her eyes.

The train sped on as she slept. Carrying her away.

She woke up with a start at the lack of motion. The train wasn’t moving. In no time, her mind was racing.

“STOP, DON’T LEAVE!” she hollered at whomever was running the train. She looked around for someone who might tell her which station they were at, but there was nobody. She gathered up her bag and moved down the aisle to the doors. They opened as she approached.

Passing in a daze out from the green flickering room of graffiti. She found herself on the dark platform. She looked for someone else, but there were no people in the glow of the platform lamps. There was a light rain in the hush of thick foliage all around the station. There was no city, no people, nothing but the hum of the dingy lamp and the unused benches. Her heart sank. The train doors closed behind her. The train sped away.

She was left alone, utterly alone, clutching her bag against her chest in the patter of the light rain. She deflated, looking at the station name which read in flat black letters: “Brigdon”.  She had never heard of it.

She looked about for some kind of booth, an overhang to get out of the damp. But the platform had nothing, she pulled out her phone and saw it light up only to notify her that the battery was at a mere 4% at which point it promptly died. She was left staring at the dark drops of water on the dormant screen.

She cursed and, seeing no shelter on the platform, she made her way down the stairs at one end and took shelter under a tree with broad leaves. The rush of wind and rain made her shelter-tree shudder and drops fell on her no matter how close she pushed her back up to the bark. She looked around, for something to reveal where she should go, the only path angled from the station into the dark woods with no light whatsoever.

“Another train will be along at some point.” said a voice. “Not until morning I’m afraid”

She looked around  and then noticed, below her gaze at about waist height a small umbrella being held by a tiny person with a furry face like a fox.

Her eyes bugged when she saw the creature hold up the umbrella with a smile.

“If you want you can use my umbrella, I don’t mind getting a little wet.”

She tentatively grasped the tiny handle and held it over her head. Not taking her eyes from the small being.

“I was actually here to meet someone, but I guess she missed her train.” Said the little guy, looking downward and scrunched up his shoulders against the rain.

“W-who were you waiting for?”

“Oh, an old friend… Anyway, no sense in us both getting wet out here, my name is Lander.” he stuck out a small furry hand that emerged from the long sleeves of his coat. She shuffled the umbrella to her other hand with her bag and grasped Lander’s hand shaking it up and down, stultified by the strange little person.

“My name is…” She drew a blank. Panic arose in her. “I don’t remember my name”

“Seems like kind of an important thing to forget; you might be catching a fever.” Said Lander. “Come, if you need a place to stay, you can come stay with me, the next train isn’t until the sun comes up. It’s not safe to be out at night alone, especially in a rain storm.”

The panic that was within her came out as “If it’s all the same I think I should wait for the train on my own.”

“Suit yourself, you can keep the umbrella.”

And then without another word he turned and walked briskly away, producing a small flashlight from his coat and lighting the way down the path into the woods.

She watched him go and was soon left alone in the rain, the drops pattering off the small canvas of the small umbrella. A few moments went by before she turned and saw his little light bumbling down the path away from the small train platform. She was a city girl after all, she didn’t need help. The thought came upon her suddenly, but she soon soured to this small bit of pride and then hurried with her bag and tiny umbrella clumsily balanced after him.

As she ran, puddles splashed and the wind picked up with the rain falling harder and harder. Ahead of her down the path she could see the light bumbling on. As cold drops fell, they got in her eyes. Then there was a dump of water that fell from one of the broad leaves right before her. The splash hit the ground and rose up, covering her in water. She didn’t stop, but she failed to see the water congeal and rise up behind her.

She found herself running, and as she did, more splashes of water fell from the trees and rose up as watery blobs with shimmering tendril hands reaching out. She could see Lander when another splash fell between them. This time the puddle rose up in front of her and the watery blob appeared, eyeless reaching out towards her.

She screamed and nearly fell back, turning from this apparition only to see the five others behind her. She dropped the umbrella and soaking wet reached into her bag for her knife. She pulled it out in the darkness, flipping out the blade.

“Get away from me!” She yelled, but the blobs only continued sliding toward her. Panicking she brandished and slashed with her knife at them, but they only seemed to grow closer and bigger in the rain. She slashed at the closest one, but her hand only went through the monster and came out wet on the other side. They began to press against her and tried to drown her with their blobby bodies.

Before that could happen, a yellow light fell upon them and the watery monsters shrank away returning to simple puddles.

“Are you alright?” He called as he came up to her. “I told you this place is dangerous at night, you shouldn’t walk in the darkness.”

“You’ve got to be straight with me right now!” She said.

“What what, of course, I’m glad those pests didn’-

“No, you be clear with me RIGHT NOW…” She said, the rain and her tears mingling “Am I in a fucking fantasy story right now?”

 

 

 

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Degenerates

Huddled in some back alley behind the apartments along the river, a spot where you can see the factory, a chick with long earrings and a black blazer adorned with badges sits on the dumpster in divine LSD commune. A not-yet-adult leans against the wall with his foot on a pile of cinderblocks. He smokes a cigarette in the breath of nicotine fire that stains his army jacket with the day’s angry thoughts. We make a net of choices just to trap the demon inside. Another chick in a stained cut-off white tee that offers no brand but the universal “Fuck You” sits under the window and reaches up over her black mascara and silky black mohawk to grab the bottle from the kid laying in the room portal above her. It’s filled with the entry-level numbing agent the girl needs and the kid only feels. Trapped among concreate rulers and united by casual jadedness. They live by the deep hope that they might find what everyone else has been missing in that back alley looking at the factory where an industrial age suffocates in iron oxides like so many hopes and dreams of enlightenment.

Waiting for the day they give everyone hatchets and rifles. Waiting for the war that will change everything. Waiting for time to pass. Wating with their netted demons for the time they can be set loose; when the world can be theirs. Waiting for their lives to happen. Waiting for the drug to free them. Waiting for the arguments to stop. Waiting for the monster of Love. Wanting it all and dying of anger. Capable and dangerous.

Meditating on the sensation of it.

 

Windows

The three of them sat in the study, surrounded by all the books and tomes of the past centuries of humanity, all the great works of science and philosophy and literature, and they all knew that within all of this collective knowledge was contained the truth to it all  like breadcrumbs throughout all their pages and words.

“…I mean IT ALL is just as it sounds.”

“So it’s nothing?”

“NO, its literally all the stuff and things.”

“But anything you say that refers to IT ALL as the subject is not saying anything.”

“Not at all, for example if I say Its ALL a mystery, that we can’t know for sure of anything, it means what it says.”

“Look I’m not getting into THIS debate again with you.”

“Okay, but we can both agree that there is a phenomena occurring in which we (at the very least) perceive our own existence.”

“Sure.”

“Well in this context, the only thing that matters is perception of things. Our perception of things creates meaning.”

“yeah.”

“But then we have to wonder, from where do we perceive things happening? We cannot stop thoughts that arise from within us, and we can’t control what goes on outside of us, so there must be this place from which we see both sides.”

“Momma Catz didn’t say weather the windows would be in your head or in the wall.”

“So are you gonna look out or within?”

“That’s the trouble with it. You cant ever stand still long enough to get a good look one way or another. It’s not that I think Momma Catz isn’t full of it, I just think you can’t make it happen unless the windows are clean, and both windows just pile up with mud from all kinds of places.”

“I hear ya.”

“I mean, I get out there with the cleaner and the paper towel, if you get what I mean, but it never seems like the rain stops long enough, or the cars don’t stop going by for long enough to do it. The maintenance of it is just too painful, too fruitless to try.”

“But I mean, you’ve got to.”

Then Leon spoke up. “Who is this Momma Catz anyway?”

“You’d know her if you saw her.”

“yeah, hard to miss, she was at Bobby’s wedding last tuesday.”

“Oh. I think I know who you mean…” He didn’t.

“Anyway, why do windows need to be the thing to worry about. If you’re looking out or in, you gotta be in a room to begin with. Why not just keep that space tidy enough, then what goes on outside won’t matter so much.”

“Idk, then I feel like I’m missing out on stuff. I get anxious if I never see what the world is doing.”

“Some people are like that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know who or what I am. I can’t find the words that make me feel comfortable with myself. Like I need a label, but they all don’t fit. If I just knew who I was supposed to be I’d get down to business and be who I was meant to be.”

Leon spoke up again. “But aren’t you already who you are?”

“No Leon, that’s not at all what I mean.”

“Yeah Leon, like are you looking out of the window or into the window, do you want a tidy room or a tidy yard, or are you just a mess all over?”

Leon had to think for a bit about that and ultimately would come to no conclusions. The other two continued their conversation.

“It really seems like Momma Catz knows it all though, like windows and maintenance and all that, where are we looking and who are we, these are the questions we need to always ask ourselves so that we can KNOW with all certainty what we should be doing with it all.”

“I mean you ask yourself who you are to spite those others who put you in a box.”

“I guess. You could do that.”

Then Leon spoke again. “I’m not really sure what game we are playing.”

“It’s the secret dude! It’s these questions of philosophy and science that will explain everything you need to know, to transcend what everyone else THINKS is important. You will become closer to a GOD if you know all this stuff.”

“Windows and Momma Catz and spite and where we are?” Said Leon.

“Exactly.”

“You just don’t get it Leon.”

“I guess not.”

Leon stood up and walked out of the room. He was not a god. He was not looking through any windows. He stepped out of the musty house and walked into the light rain that fell from the dark sky. He felt the cold, and it did not bother him, for cold and warm are only things that countless generations of humanity endured without perishing. In the water there were no words, and his mind was still for every cell and environment of his being wholly existed as Leon in the rain without needing to know any more than where he was and who he was. The great questions continuing in the room, the school and philosophy of whomever momma catz was continued spiraling into disillusion and malaize and ‘ennui.

The cold rain was conquered by Leon for the time-being and his clothes became wet, but they were only clothes. They would become dry and he had no important place to be.

In Leon’s mind there was only whether one would rather spend their life trying to grasp the ineffable, or feel the goodness of existing beyond petty discomfort.

One who never knew the sensation of giving in to the greater and being a part of it, would never know the truth of it all. It is a truth with many names and words and writings that span the centuries of human existence. But only those with the luxury to wonder will wonder and those who can be content with not knowing, or simply knowing enough, would come to find it.

Thoughts do not exist, only actions exist, only sensations exist, only reality exists, and it is as definable as the great being of things, of that which exists simply IS and what does not exist IS not.

Every gap is filled with a being, anything that can find a place will find it and go to it, for the great interlocking and meshing of cells and forms and plants and animals, can only work on what IS there. The chemicals and gasses and electrons of all matter contained form and build where it is possible. If it did not they would not be.

So Leon, not realizing this in so many words, simply didn’t worry about it, because he stood on solid ground, the ground under his feet. He felt the air contained within the world that he was made for. And he was glad that he could be happy just knowing what he knew without explaining it.

 

 

 

Resonance

“Well you know she stepped up to me- had on these boots, like you know, like they were they were from the 1800’s, but there were skulls on em’. I’m rollin’ a jack and I watched her come up and she steps right in front of me, and BAM lands that pointy thing right between my legs.”

“She stepped on you?”

“Nah no no, on the stoop man, like on the concrete, like she was just out to scare me. All the tobacco in my paper goes flying and I get pissed off, I’m like “WHAT WAS THAT FOR!” and she leans in at me right up next to me and she says “whats the best part of life?”

…and that would be the kind of thing she’d do, just to get a rise out of people, you know rile em’ up, get them out of whatever, like cruse control they all act in. I mean I’m in it to, I try not to get stuck in it, but now I feel like my cruse control is just being paranoid about being comfortable.”

“What’s wrong with being comfortable?”

“Well it’s not real is it? Being comfortable isn’t being happy or sad, it’s being content, its not quite all there isn’t it. Maybe that’s just how I feel, I feel like I’m never comfortable. I’m always trying to get away from it, being content, cuz if your content you’re alright with nothing. Like if your content you are just fine with death. Letting time past with forgotten dreams. ”

“oh.”

“Yea, but I still love just laying down and I used to just exist and it’s a hard gear to get away from. It’s easy now with it all, all the TV programs. I guess being comfortable is just not getting anything, not reaching. People wanna be comfortable. I do to, but If I was  comfortable I’d never get anything done. But then I don’t know what I need to get done anyway. If it’s alright to just keep going and hope you end up somewhere. I’m just all chopped up and divided, and I don’t know if I’m the only one or it’s just a human condition. You know?”

“So you have doubts?”

“Shit yeah I got doubts. I’m a hypocrite. I’d like to think everyone is.”

“So what did you say?”

“about what?”

“When she asked you what the best part about life was.”

“Oh when she slammed her boot between my legs.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought about it, I had nothing to say. If you’re put on the spot like that its hard to get it out. Now, I just shoot out the first thing that comes to mind and damn the consequences. Not very responsible, but forget being contemplative. It’s just a god-damned Hamlet complex. ”

“So you didn’t say anything?”

“I thought, and it was a sunny day so I said sunshine. And when I said it, it didn’t feel real, you know, i was just trying to put something out there. How the hell can you- there is a whole world out there. Just pick one thing out of it. It’s all too much man. It’s insulting, and why should I be put on the spot about it.”

“You got upset.”

“Yeah, she riled me.”

“Like you said she does.”

“Yeah, that was how she got a rise.”

“Give others a rise?”

“yeah.”

“So what did she say?”

“SO I said sunshine, and just sat there. Like a dope, and she didn’t do or say anything for a long moment. She knew how to make a moment…significant. She looked at me for a while, she was right up in my face, and then she closed her eyes, she took in air through her nose… deep deep in and her chest rose and her stomach filled…And then she held it…and slowly she let it out through her mouth…and I got the smell that a close breath has….you know when it’s more CO2 than regular air…. And she let it out and she said : “BREATHING.”

“Did you agree?”

“I did after she said that.”

 

 

 

Sometimes

There was a hum to the room.  It wasn’t loud, but it was there, and its funny how that can be enough. I didn’t really notice it the first few times, but once I did hear it, I couldn’t put it back. You could say that’s like a “knowledge is power and power corrupts” kinda thing, but I’m not really here to make those kinds of thoughts. I have them, it’s all there, but recently, it’s all just become a big tangled mess. The feelings are there but I can’t put them into words, I can’t explain them to people. People, other people. I’m not good with people, unless it’s at the surface level, but I guess who isn’t? There are a lot of them, each an enigma that I can’t figure out. Like the source of the hum.

I’m not sure if there’s a hum for anyone else, but I hear it. If I don’t think about it it’s nothing, not there, it’s all clear. But the backdrop, the background noise, the static of all that I know and all that I’ve thought in pure, raw, uncut feeling in the back of my mind. I don’t know if anyone else knows it, acknowledges it. I don’t think I’m special or anything for pointing it out, but usually there’s like a switch that turns these kinds of thoughts off when I’m with other people. We need to have some way to bridge the gap. And the real problem I might have with people is that if we are all the same, and they are just like me, what do they make of it all?

Anyway, I sat back in the chair and let the hum overtake me until it was all over the room. Until it overshadowed all rational thoughts and my mind felt like there was no lucidity anymore. Cognition taken over by screens and words and thoughts and displays that swirled in my head until it was a wonder that there was any output at all. I just don’t know anymore. I need something grounding, something to take the edge off the thoughts before I start.

Maybe I spend too much time alone. In this room, with the hum, It’s just normal, comforting. I don’t know anything anymore. There is only faith, for whatever it’s worth. Everyone’s pretty quick to snuff out faith these days. Optimists might as well be idiots. No, everyone’s so tripped up on proving how smart they are to everyone. “See the reality that everything is awful?” That might be fine when the talky switch is on, but at night when it’s just you and your thoughts…well…at least there’s youtube right?

Just keep pushing out accepting it all for as long as you can. Feel content in your world. Run away from pain. Don’t feel things. Just Cope.

I wanted desperately to take a pull of something. I could feel it all coming up from the hum in my bedroom.  The static. Maybe scratching that itch would clear it up?

It’s all just a cycle.

This is what’s kept me from quitting.

I just had to ride it out.

Childeren’s book idea.

Today is another day
By this guy

Hey, it’s okay, today is another day!

To live and learn and find a new way,

To do all those things you’re good at,

like walk and run and jump and play!

To see all the people that you know go about their day,

and say hi to them as they go on their way.

Odillaly! Callooh Calay!

Enjoy the time while they have it to stay,

performing life’s little goshdarned play

while the cold embrace of the universe surrounds you

and strips away your ego

turning your vibrant achievement’s to particulates of grey,

Swaddles you in the comfort of nothing

and upends your hopeful attempts to survey

 

Titanic gulfs of interest amid existential parlays

Trying to chase your “true” potential day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day:
until the sound of that word makes you sick to your stomach and you realize that it’s all just time happening, night day it has no real meaning than it’s direct effect on when we do stuff and it’s all slipping away into the vast cauldren of bubbling something while our microscopic world spins through space around a small blip of light which is fifty million times bigger than the bacteria that live in our stomachs to help us digest cuz we’re an entire ecosystem, yeah OUR BODIES ARE AN ECOSYSTEM for small organisms who meet the same requirements for life as us because we can’t rationally draw a line (I guess it’s somewhere around viruses but that’s beside the point because the fucking scope of small things to big things is so mind boggling that I’m jaded to everything else now and I don’t know what has value anymore so I latch onto set ideals of what should be values and smoke and drink to relax myself from that constant factor and don’t close parentheticals because barriers are an illusion….

um

….But hey, It’s okay, today is another day

To make the story change

to figure out a better way

to laugh and love and jump and play

Odillaly! Callooh Calay!

Today is another day.

“Hey what’s up?”

I’m so bad at people and making decisions….but don’t feel bad for me, I don’t think I deserve it …oh god now I’m saying too much and you’re all looking at me and now I don’t know what to say cuz it’s just gonna dig a deeper hole where it gets complicated and people will want more explanations or to comfort me or they just won’t care at all and I don’t know if I can bear it if I say all this stuff and put myself and my feelings out on the line and then getting nothing in return but blankness and whatever because I equate people liking me to my own self worth and I can’t help it and I end up ashamed of myself for even bothering because I’ll know people will be making opinions of me based on what I say like “looking for attention” or “wow that’s sad” or even “What’s wrong” which are stuff that I think about other people sometimes because I’m selfish and I constantly need validation, but don’t bother  to validate others all the time, but they might not even want my validation cuz why would they have the same issues as me? and I’m not asking for you to care or worry about me because those are all the sorts of things I don’t want because I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m okay, don’t worry about me or think about me but DON’T GO AWAY because I’m afraid of dying alone and being alone and dying in general, but I keep making mistakes and driving people  away and why cant everyone just get off of eachother’s case and maybe I’m just on my own case or everyone is a jury and they are constantly standing over me to the point where all of humanity is just this faceless black shadow shrouding out the sky beyond it’s horrid godlike eye that looks at me when I go to a bar or walk down the street or register to vote and it watches me telling me I’m not worth your time because I’ve fucked up so many times before and it’s going to happen again and I don’t know if the eye is right or if I make it right because I don’t want to fail and I want people to like me because I validate myself by people liking me and I can’t keep track of everyone or even want to keep tabs on people or be involved with people because of the jury shadow eye thing and the longer time I spend with people the easier it is for me to hurt them because I’m bad at people and making decisions…but don’t feel bad for me, i don’t think I deserve it…now I’ve said too much the hole is very deep now and I don’t know if I have some kind of problem but all the online tests I take say that I’m positively average and on the one hand that should be good but a uniqueness is necessary to stay sane and I wanna believe that I’m special like my momma would say but I’m not special and that’s okay I’m fine with that so I’m all myself and If I’m supposed to be average that might mean that most people have the same thoughts as me and that means that they can maybe relate to having thoughts like me and maybe that might mean that….something. So anyway…no I’m gud.

Connecticut

Ct’s style is that it’s got no style, I mean, like, for normal people because really it’s full of rich preppy yups, illusioned by money and TV commercials, but despite that, it’s just between everything. It’s not quite the city (New York or Boston) where again despite! not living in either place, connecticutians (conneties? connectonians?) whatever we are called, will swear allegiance to the nearest most densely populated area anywhere else outside of the state. I mean who wants to say they are from Nor-wack and while Yale might be in New Haven, it still has the appropriate title “gunwavein” New Haven. Danbury’s only saving grace is the heirloom arts theater and the fact that Dethclock said it was a more brutal place than Finland.

It’s also important to mention that there is a large sect of “Connecticuters” (I looked it up) who believe that they are somewhere in the south or Midwest, kind of a strange not quite southern redneck version of the Vermonter or Maine Hick. You can see a lifted duly Dodge ram with an enormous American flag hoisted on a pole in the bed parked next to a Maserati.

It’s because Connecticut has no real identity other than being overlooked and conforming to a random social strata. really, you should think of people from CT like pieces of the asteroid belt. At one point those pieces could have been it’s own planet, but now it’s just a bunch of lost rocks trapped between the gravities of Saturn and Jupiter.

Don’t get me wrong though I’m glad I grew up here, and more importantly I’m glad I just didn’t stay in my one particular bubble of CT, but at the same time once you are in mid high school, there is nothing for a young person to really do there. It’s the most emigrated from area of the U.S. behind the city of Detroit, It doesn’t even have the ocean because Road Island occupies its only de jure claim. It’s taxed too high and in a world where most people will still be straddled with their collage loan debt into their fifties, it’s likely only going to become more of a haven for rich young families to raise their rich young kids.

Once they become older rich kids they will likely look to the much more oriented states that begin with C, ie. Colorado/ California.

Still you can find any kind of person there, and the word I would use to describe Conecticuters is adaptable.

Bigger things on my mind.

Okay, so lets say that I find someone who I love, whatever love really means, and lets say I spend my time with that person and we hold hands and laugh and carry on with fulfilling each others’ sexual fantasies  and all that jazz. I know eventually what that leads to is having some kind of offspring, and that involves creating a new person, and that person makes more people, and more people keep making more people and that keeps fucking over the earth until there are no resources left and everything dies.

I guess there is adoption, but that’s like the same thing.

I mean it’s a selfish thing to say that what genes i put in are gonna lead to the kid who grows up to solve all the fuckn’ problems. most people don’t try to solve any problems.

No, it;s better off that I just don’t get involved, if I just don’t look for anyone, I’ll just devote my time to my work, writing things and traveling, and writing about traveling. making up stories and commenting on the status quo with my own observation and ending up poor homeless and broke, but maybe somewhere cool where they still respect hobos.. maybe Australia, or Iceland.

I’ll just devote myself to something, and even if it changes nothing at least I can say, “hey I did that stuff at least”

Maybe when I’m dead people will see some stuff in something somewhere. After the internet is gone and some some scrap of paper with something I scribbled on when I felt the pangs of loneliness and the crushing embrace of the voidy aspects of existence, maybe someone will find that and suddenly the conundrum of their life is made clear and they have some kind of zen style enlightenment and that person goes on to lead what remains of humanity back to a civilization but without the folly of our ways and that awesome civilization, inspired by a poem I wrote, goes on to create technology and culture that our primitive, unenlightened minds could never comprehend like…fuckn…mind..wave…power, or maybe they discover the latent powers humanity has that we just forgot.

Maybe they go on to space  somehow and create new planets with different evolutionary timelines that lead to all wonderment of fantastical species of plants and animals, like talking dogs or sentient daises, and all the people aren’t ashamed of themselves and run around the grass all naked in the sun and shit because no one is sexualized or unsightly in the awesome culture of people and sentient daisy-dogs, but like all the people still get it on (consensually) however they want because they can all tell eachothers’ thoughts. Stuff we would think is really weird and taboo would be totally cool because we are all just temporary beings in a fluctuating world…and..

well that’s why I think we should be seeing other people.