You don't know what I'm looking at when I write. At what time I am in my mind. As what observer. Just remember that. There are many unknowns. People here know that.
The only way love ever empowers all these preaching fuckers is when it is the virtuous party line by which you have to swallow all their bullshit paradigms and lies and broken promises and accept everything unconditionally
In 1935 Mr & Mrs Plim shocked neighbours by taking Bjorn, a manically depressed werepolarbear, as a lodger.
Their relationship changed rapidly & soon the bi-bi-polar-bear was sharing their bed.
The threesome lived in a mixed state of sexual fulfilment & brooding angst until 1967.
That scene in Terminator 2 where the terminator busy sinking into the molten metal, keep on changing into all the forms it had assumed to try and find a form that can get him out of there. I think about that scene a lot