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Picture
of the Day
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Tuesday
February 24,
2026
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Consciousness itself might not be a
curse, but consciousness of consciousness is a recipe for disaster, a matryoshka doll of ever diminishing returns, like a plastic bag of plastic bags filled with dog shit in a city intent on digesting itself--like holding up a mirror to the back of your head in front of a mirror to see what others see from that dispersonal angle. And why do they come in rainbow array when shit's just one color? (More or less, of course. There have been notable exceptions, like that time I committed to sculpt my own fecal matter but kept putting it off for obvious reasons, only to pass pale white ghost poo as deadline approached, so terrified that I quickly flushed it down but next one turned out reassuring brown.) |