First you infantilize them. Then you sexualize them. That's why it's so gross, when you're forced to think about it. Girls. No, it's women now. And sometimes, ladies, that's sometimes acceptable. Ladies. And why not? It's not like I was ever comfortable with girls, the word or the beings. I liked to think up names for my imaginary daughter, that's all. Could never even draw them, in line art or descriptive prose. Maybe once or twice in poetry but it still seems gross to me, strained through a filthy shopvac filter, crusted with lust and loneliness, my own gastrointestinal version that my words conform to.
It's women and the goddess now, praying for matriarchy and the white race to be placidly dissipated in soft pumpkin genetic homogeny. Lord make me an instrument of thy peace. Yes, I can get behind that arcane sounding and humble request, even if I want to purge the thys and thous and arts and haths from my prayers because of the false feeling that language gives me, the way I feel pretentious when I parrot that dialect instead of speaking the way people of this age speak, whatever the lingual guilt by association. But yeah, Howard be thy name, so, your will be done, or rather, help me be useful to others, see, I'm praying to be a better person, so I can contribute to the good, not for a bunch of stuff for me - save for meaning and purpose and the purest bliss of virtue, iow, circumventing the material goods that briefly feed and then stymie happiness and hooking up directly to the overarching good feeling of being in harmony with my fellow humans and maybe nature, thus, a more efficient selfishness.
I think I have a good heart, it's in the right place, but clogged with the sticky tar this sickly society runs on. It would be a fitting end for my world if my heart failed. But my blood pressure's so low. More likely, I'll find a balance between euthanasia and euphoria and push the plunger on that when the time comes.
Contribute to the good, what a nice idea, how nice of me for coming up with it, I'm so proud of myself. A shame though that it all goes out the window the instant I'm called upon to act on it, the thousand little ways I'm tested each day at work, the opportunities I could take to practice this principle, like I used to practice piano. I struggled mightily with that form of practice too, and eventually gave up. And I had passion for the piano. Maybe I have passion for being good and making the world better, it may be trending that way, anyway. But more likely, it's a random walk, like this blog. Which is not to say there isn't sense in the pre-apocalyptic Melbourne drunk's tuesday night stagger trending toward the ditch, and statistically likely to end up there.
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I'm working out new ways to perform and record. They take the form of melodic fragments, half-assed renditions of half-remembered songs,...