To reach for beauty, cheerful in the knowledge that there is no such thing.
(Remembering that all ideologies are suspect, and every absolute finite.)
Desperately running from cheese*, I've crashed into the iceberg of pretension. But fuck it, it's me that's made this cold bed, I'm sticking to it.
(*As in cliche, not a big Edam.)
Thursday, 10 February 2011
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