“Now why, if freedom is striven after for love of the ego after all- why not choose the ego itself as beginning, middle, and end? Am I not worth more than freedom? Is it not I that make myself free, am not I the first? Even unfree, even laid in a thousand fetters, I yet am; and I am not, like freedom, extant only in the future and in hopes, but even as the most abject of slaves I am——-present.”—Max Stirner: The Ego and His Own (pg 117-118)
I separate the piles of hay and dew, (Sunday at my uncle’s farm) concluding the latter to be completely ruined by the straw, and ideas begin to dawn. Slow running trickle-down economic turn of piss steamed forwards 4o’clock sky ideas:
We’re Nintendo gems of 8-bit sunrise,
Candy shell gossamer, repeated loops, televised currently, awkwardly adequate, despite what you may have heard otherwise, foreign babysitters, razor clams, winrar! WINRAR!——— and sick twisted cunt vagina w/ wire hairs sewing circuits among the last recyclable computer chips in best buy’s wisdom tooth brotherly brothel.
“We find the polymer flex of your glass visions to be most unpleasant, sir: