The dopaminergic and serotonergic apparatus went walking hand in hand and they that alone produced joy and accomplishment together bore a child named sadness.
Descartes thought he could give God the green light to exist as if cognition had a right to assent or object and as if God would give a ****.
And some poor other fool thought he could rule his feelings.
Body, first, or brain, Lord? And who runs the show exactly?
Body needs feeding. Brain needs hormones. And if you find the right ones, cup your hands together and watch them trickle through.
Sadness, sure. A low voice through the wall that says come here so you come and hear it whisper again from another room.
I knew a woman and on her thigh, bright and fresh the beautiful phrase “radical softness as a weapon”. She was so soft it hurt. But formlessness, too, is a weapon, and there’s only one person it harms.
I suppose somebody must soon find my shape on the ground in chalk. If I’m lucky, she’ll kneel and place a flower in it.