caste yourself as theatricless.

Hello, my name is occupy, I am time. And I decide how we all find.
This is where it’s like the inside of these lines. An invisible stick figure walks amongst large black walls. Straight mountains. Take your birth control and tomorrow we’ll see him stumbling amongst nothing. Then our eyes will white because his time to choose time to end has come to an end. His choice be choicelessness. He chose it.

But. But nothing but butting into time, yours and mine. But nothing but losing yourself in time, yours or mine. But nothing but something is what this thing is. Or what you say. You understand how it is to sit anomic. To noise as sonnentce. To sound yourself as something rather than forgetting. And it doesn’t have possibility when you chose.

Veblen called us all pussy fucks. And he was right. Art is leisure is nothing, a lie you’ve made for yourself to state us. To find status. Figure out. The artists have. When they said ‘live,’ they meant it. Become a blacksmith. Make a tool.