That screen…is the cave wall. What the fuck is going on behind you, casting the shadows you’re fixated on giving life to instead of living yourself?

What is the true comfort of the chains lying at your feet like Lady Liberty that you pretend aren’t broken open?

This is why I pay no mind to the Olympics. Pre-it? I used to imagine going to them as an Ole lady, in Fencing, when I settled down some fn where & took it up all the way. But...Casually. Lol. It got ignited one last time six years later. But have no sporty illusions, big guy lol.

It was Rifat Ozbek×my once vicious precision (stabbing artBoyz with things in shows of gleefully abject dominance)that made me fall in love.

The Angel, Ever-Fashist.

It took 30 years for a kid who looked like the judges who fouled her to be cheered on for doing a lesser Version of what she was penalized for doing …because it was unimaginable to them as being possible for themselves.

YET THEY’VE spent more than a quarter century trying to find some white kid with the technique and cajones to try …to go where she casually went. Fixated. Fucking fixated. On something that was an aside to her. A joyful one.

People like them clamor for competition… when this is the actuality of their intentions and renditions.

The Angel, sure there’s like barely Two degrees of separation btwn her & this kid’s coaching lineage, or some coincidental connection to some 98 judge and this kid. It wouldn’t even BE the kid’s fault.