I don't want to plunge into humanity's fleshy sprawl where all is groping, approximating apology and cowardice. All art is cowardice. All writing is cowardice. All bravery is fear of failure. All acts of freedom are pleas for some form of captivity.
Love is captivity.
Responsibility is captivity. Real freedom is a bowl of sand eaten naked at noon in the desert. It sucks and you'll be all alone. A young boy is training an angry circle of light from the sun through a magnifying glass into your flesh. He is impressed with his skill.