All that I know is that I was animated, and then born through my mother, onto a moldy ingot that has mountains and deer and dragonflies and melted glacier puddles. There isn't really much to do except stand on top of the next hill and continue in awe. But somehow there were beasts who came about this place in the exact same way, and they insisted that the only thing I own mortally, my consciousness, the art built and projected across the synaptic gaps in my skull, is somehow a communal experience, and that I owe them some debt for the Liberty I can feel where they feel only fear. And if this weren't enough, these beasts took to convincing poor others, who came about this place in just the same way, of this eternal human ledger which requires registration, and tribute, and surveillance, and suspicion, and human sacrifice, and flagellation, and indentured servitude, and that anyone who manages to skirt these imagined tolls is a problem and a threat and a leper.
If I am stubborn, and I am, it is because taking this beating is my fucking birthright, and I won't be disinherited of it. Every abrasion is soil tilled and claimed and homesteaded and owned. Every false kinship severed, is then butchered and rendered into sustenance.
We are not here to be happy or comfortable or successful. We are here to be an irreconcilable expression of what we know we are. And I am this.
@AleksanderSelos Twenty years ago, my buddy had surgery to remove a testicle. I hung the biggest nut I could find on his locker. Think he busted some stitches laughing...