A stack of creative concepts tainted with ideals of fame is calling my name. Just give it a common denominator: chop, chop monism, chop, chop solipsism, chop, chop realism, chop, chop, structuralism, chop, chop, post… chop, chop, chop reality into syllables because big ones don’t bring fundamental change. Your originality is a waste of time they say; it has already been described. Foolish hat, they say, you’ll never win a game that is defined by tradition. You are trapped by everything you say [create] because although you chop, chop, chop reality; everything has already been baked, they say. Enjoy the game before it bakes you sterile! Your thoughts will be judged as scientific terms in the philosophy of the sheep. Are you asleep? They play the game of eloquence trying to spot the perfect combination of knowledge. As if life was a safe with a simple combination of faith. Such a childish play! A bait that is almost impossible to ignore if your ego is as big as their baseball bats; thinkers hitting hard their predecessors with the hope of being more renowned than the older. Such an impossible game! Want to find the truth? Chop, chop, chop tradition, and if you hate change… Let your past be your destiny. Read your history, bake your cake, make your recipe with true joy. But as I let you enjoy, let me chop, chop, chop without labeling my thought because once you think you’ve got me, read again, you’ll always find that chop, chop, chop is nothing but… Binary Heart from: http://xkcd.com/99/
