Sometimes I have it at the tip of my tongue, and then I lose all of it. It’s a nightmare, to be quite honest. It’s not simple wanting to be the product of something that people cannot even acknowledge exists, should exists, and should be increased.
Related to whatever aesthetic from this era I so try to cop my soul is decidedly faustian with the desire for dionysian clubmates, I don’t want to fuck I just want to club and get fucked up. I want it to be infinite, not a lane, not a santana row, just a massive amount of commerce, the tech people are trying to gay up my incredibly advanced aesthetic maneuvers. I can already imagine the critics but it isn’t even immediately clear what i’m looking for.
For now sitting in Pekoe(a milk tea caffe), drinking milk tea, looking somewhat maniacal, and musing to myself is sufficient grasp of this. If this is anything, it’s phenomenology. And thas it.