“Let me climb up a stupid mountain that will prove to make me feel douche worthy enough in compensation for a dissapointing, failed, and miserable life; in any case, I won’t die in vain—dead.”
When someone reminds you if you haven’t written your will lately.
“Even though I had no life, I lived a pretty long one,” great, so basically you’ve wasted everybody’s time including yours.
In the Mediterranean world, if we were all brave enough and decide to come out the closet; we will have the remains left of a population near to extinction.
Of all the stories that people didn’t believe you about; it’s okay, these were meant to be the best stories to remember for yourself upon taking them with you to your grave.
“I have no regrets,” no one gets away with it—admit—you pussies.
Blessed with the best inclination and yet you chose to dismiss the godly perfection; “well that’s too bad.”
Stranger: What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think about prisons?
Me: Recovery institutions.
“Being helped, sponsered, and/or supported in the art world is a childish and an immature concept that needs to end,” basically you want us dead—say goodbye to your reputation.
Stranger: Is this real leather.
Me: You like it. It’s made of genuine human skin.