There’s a kind of thinking that draws me and fifteen years from now, when I’m old & respectable & wise I’ll be drawn still. I might deny it, the need to set a suburban, socially acceptable example might have clipped my outspoken edge, but I’ll only be pretending. When the children are asleep and those moral overseers in charge of my financially necessitous fapping can’t see me, I’ll seek out the dissenting voices of that day. These pedlars of shock; the crass purveyors of nihilistic defiance, these defacers of all things grey and prescribed. Its a sentiment I cannot tire of; Hicks, Carlin, Kinnison, Stanhope, Nietzsche and Goldman. Aggressively poetic, devoted and crisp.
I’ll never tire of this timeless, angelic, voice of excess.
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