I Ought To Have A Special Hell For My Anger, A Hell For My Pride, - And A Hell For Sex; A Whole Symphony

I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all. Believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Hamlet, Act 3, scene 1

biden removing cuba from the state sponsor of terrorism list NOW is so fucking stupid. trump last act as president put cuba on the terrorism list. biden last act as president take cuba off the list. cuban lives continue to be nothing more than western pawns. cuba has experienced crisis after crisis during the biden administration and he only moves to do this now because no part of him actually wants to see cuba free. it's been over 66 years and these old white men are still pissing themselves in fear of latin american leftism, their sick need for control leading them to arbitrarily point fingers and cry "terrorist." we all know who the real terrorists are.

Edvard Munch, 1885, Asta Nørregaard

Sleep Spaces

"When I shut my eyes phosphorescent blooms appear and fade and come to life again like fireworks made of flesh. I pass through strange lands with creatures for company. No doubt you are there, my beautiful discreet spy. And the palpable soul of the vast reaches. And perfumes of the sky and the stars the song of a rooster from 2000 years ago and piercing screams in a flaming park and kisses. Sinister handshakes in a sickly light and axles grinding on paralyzing roads. No doubt there is you who I do not know, who on the contrary I do know. But who, here in my dreams, demands to be felt without ever appearing. You who remain out of reach in reality and in dream. You who belong to me through my will to possess your illusion but who brings your face near mine only if my eyes are closed in dream as well as in reality. You who in spite of an easy rhetoric where the waves die on the beach where crows fly into ruined factories, where the wood rots crackling under a lead sun." -Robert Desnos

So it turns out that we’re not the answer to the dreams of centuries. Lope of the hunter from field to forest. “We have adapted wheat to grow on clouds and grain to fall like rain.” Laughed, then died, and the living guess at the joke. Mark Weiss

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god bless the martyrs and those who love them