Is this the mirror?
So when 2 personalities approaching me as trans, offer their...friendship, of which the second member of our so-called community greets me with a high five just because and can't seem to connect with the first trans bretheren drinking from a Chik-Fil-A cup...I wonder what's going on? So anyhow, it seems, even from a gentlemen, with a particular British accent, with a particular flag on the front of the car, with a particular plate on the back, MI6, lololololol...not hate loves. Anyhow, in the office one is holding a conversation about AI and the money, money, money, opportunities...Of which, one is making that fine offer, and my response, I'll give you my best....Much like I open up Ryco Katz a mock celebrity project to fuck with those who need me to fall...and yet I haven't, still, to this day. And now, I Zazzle, RB, Tee Public and Spoonflower...I mean, she's shooting, she's ready to arrive. She's striving for the mirror, and yet, that wouldn't be the case at all, but if we all need to pretend. Not as if my lot in life wouldn't stop the incessant need for certain personalities to engage in that ever arrogant way of being realized, as they hold generations of bodies in the mirror, and yet to even acknowledge these matters involving rigors of process that they haven't themsleves engaged. I could be wrong, but when arrogant, yes, even at work, one will have that go, of which I take the hit, each and everytime. Souring I suppose, and yet I remain in relation to these processes that were in play even during my early collegiate days. And among other academic endeavors with those very expensive watches and cars, and yet, wasn't at all focused on such matters...and yet the British accent, not just any British accent, needs to attempt discussion on these fine monetary opportunities, as if I am oblivious. I am the pauper among this rock spinning around fire, so be it. My fate it is. I will endure as always. In the meantime, I am quite happy with tapestry caravan. It's a commercial production, with the aim, of something that wouldn't involve money, money, money, not as a higher calling, but simply as a focus. I'm likely living in a van, so the zazzle is nice, in that I have pillows, tapestries, curtains (that I don't like), but they might reside in a caravan, and wrapping paper, which I'm not sure about either, but I consider bohemian gift giving...of one nesting among metaphysical process that involves commercial avenue in a way that certainly challenges the banality of existing design, and no need to pretend, though the silence among the white light limousine is expected, for those of us on a red dress run. I suppose? Who knows really? And the RB is coming together as well, which feeds into the Tee Public, and SF, though the focus isn't any of these avenues, or whether or not I get followers. I just dont' give a F*$#! Rather, what I do give a damn about is how these subject designs lend to something that I desired. To paint the subject physically in a way that is almost effortless, with an emphasis on color. The tapestry flowers and strawberries, and likely more are setting me up for what I have been desiring. Working with colorthoery to produce involved works, and yet, to lend back to something that is a bit more humbling. Embracing our physicalities to work with these complexities in a way that accepts the limitation of not being a generative perfection and yet remaining in love with pigments and forms that embrace intermal considerations, to explore the interplays of ideals, to connection with notions Plato articulated, among an order and their mysteries, of which wouldn't exactly be disclosed on the most exciting measure involving our road to self-realization, the Television. Again, though, when the smiling faces, especially of a similar design, desiring to get to know me, in that fine, strategic manner, of which me, the one among the absolute smallest of networks, is naturally oblivious of our youth gunning for their opportunity, and by all means, one wants to play with fire, then by all means. When I was that age, I was finely tuned-in to where that path leads, but by all means, do whatever you like. Much like, I could be at the finish line of the one who got it, and yet, you observe as I go in a way that embraces the frictions that foster the muscle to grow. I suppose life could be so easy if I just did what was the "proper" thing to do, and yet after beating those odds, I want the double down and the exponential form. We are on a rock spinning around a ball of fire. You can have all the weapons, people, and buildings tied to your name, all day every day. I'm not afraid. I'm here, like it or not. Send all to assert I am the one who strives to achieve the mirror, and yet, at this point, anyone not afraid to face these challenges would follow, that wouldn't be the case at all. And it wouldn't come from matters of antagonism. There is no hatred for those I love, even if my love is difficult. One who gets that, follows. Others, our fine earth angels, simply float among the surface, rainbow synthetic beings, like petrol ooze surviving with training wheels, cherry pick what makes sense to them, which just so happens to place them into a postion of being the answer to me...of which expect them to pay me a visit at my place of work to play the tacit game of I know more than you horseshit. Smile. Meanwhile, once upon a time at least, a group among ancient context wouldn't be at a loss for my activities. I'm not into the mirror at all, Zazzle, Tee Public, Red Bubble, Spoonflower, and all. I don't need the material frame, the empire of dirt, to hold inform in relation to who I am...We can play it still waters, but there is always the flush, among that ancient play that desires not the category but the ongoing interactivity between, and the tradition among those who do not stop to make such connection, material frame or caravan-nonmaterial frame. The rigor is followed and understood. We bond, while those in the mirror kiss ass for their next polished pucker opportunity, including that desire to hold title, even if they are completely full of shit. Peace. And as for the suffering among words, where was I? Verse. Chorus.
It's Odd