How does it feel to be 32? It feels like one of the most useless questions in the world. I’ll answer anyway. It doesn’t.
Times is a red herring; a scapegoat. Time machine? F*ck time machines. If I could go back I’d do the same thing again.
It’s all the god damn chemicals. It’s all the chemicals in the brain that do the real damage. Age isn’t sh*t. Chemicals turn you into a winner. Chemicals turn you into a loser. Something happens. Something doesn’t happen. It’s all recorded. It’s all electricity. It’s all the way the little neurons work; and they don’t like to change mid-shift.
I have a picture of myself as a child holding a baby chicken at arms length with a terrified expression on my face. All the other kids cradled them to their breasts. Chemicals. Electricity. Chickens would shape be the shape of my life. I am chemicals. I am electricity. I am a chicken. I don’t want to do things differently.
How does it feel to be a chicken? That is the question.
Bullp*ss 