Lately I've been grapling with the notion that maybe I'm a jerk. Like, really, I might have actually screwed up a thing or two the last nineteen or so years. Up until now I've pulled this really clever line, especially on Christians, where I'm like, "Yeah, you know, it was a crappy time in my life, but I just don't see how I could have had it any
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Life is so rich and frenzied that even our memories are just cositas we chose to sustain. That is to say, our memories are just narratives. Everything else we don't remember are things we couldn't handle, so we decided to kill them or be dead to them.
Its like when we tell our testimonies. We don't really know what the heck happened, so we put it in these 4 bullet points and tell jokes and cry about the poignant parts. It's not necessarily bad. Language itself is revisionist history; we rely on the dead metaphors of past artistic, creating subjects to speak to each other. I tell you 'moon' and you nod. You tell me 'it was crappy' and I nod.
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poo tastes good
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