There is a part of me that recognises the sacredness and perishability of my body. That wants to preserve my body. There is some other part, too, that knows it will deteriorate regardless.
That one day, this certainly does end. So I may as well visit new headspaces. Enjoy gluttonous extravagances. Glorify the gruesome.
I mean, I would never cover my couch in plastic. That's hideous. Uncomfortable to sit on. Feels like a pointless precaution without any real purposeful advantage. It only destroys the pleasure of the couch.
I would spend my savings on travel and coffee and gifts because my money is redundant in my bank account and could be wiped from the computers in a second. So why would I place this body in a sterile plastic-wrapped container of immaculate health when it is capable of much?
I especially know that I have physical and mental extremes beyond my everyday use, knowledge and capacity. So should I not take advantage of those quiet borders? To not is, in itself, a form of neglect.
I just worry that when wider places are known, real life won't suffice anymore. And I do tend to fixate. So perhaps as always, it is about moderation. Extremes within moderation. Testing within reason. Structured improvisation. It's dancing. Just like Michael said; "Everything is dancing."
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