Some people find conversation can be sublimely artful and intricately layered and are careful about claims that aren’t backed by the authority of controlled double blind repeated studies. That all never touches our embodied/lived/aware/subjective/sexual state. You can’t escape your own smell, your own oxygen burning, your own need to feed on plants and flesh, your own social and sexual desires. Ideas never transcend you to an alternate plane. Dieing won’t likely help – you’ll just stop.

I see people wandering their mouths all over the place against anyone, promoting Utopia and decrying Sin. For the public good, they try to raise awareness. Are they fucking regular? Are they happy? Are they inside their Utopia? Ideas of Utopia don’t get us inside Utopia.

There is no Utopia that doesn’t stink of animal sweat and include extranious and bothersome information, like the sounds of cats in heat and buzzing flies and eye-horror-maggots. There is no Utopia without life. We can’t jump into books.

Humans are social animals, and there is no perfect social system. Our foibles are not mere social constructs, they are innate. Human nature is what we satirize when we satirize culture.

So since ideas can’t cure the world, since impermanence steals the meaning of storing capital, living for today is the only thing for it.  When my life flashes before my eyes in that last instant, it won’t be boring, and I won’t be wishing I’d done what I really wanted to do.

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