Callie’s Thoughts Congealing
Yeah yeah SEO ‘thoughts congealing’ in the first sentence. Here’s a few that are peeling off my gray matter and won’t let me sleep, again, for what…three nights now mostly.
Thoughts Congealing Like A Solid Clump of Curdled Milk That Retains the Shape of Its Container
Here’s a real smutpunk manifesto for you, I think. We’ll see when it’s over.
That’s what smutpunk is all about. Everything’s always connected. And nothing is connected. It’s an annoying fucking paradox but it’s real. We are what we are born to be, but now, we don’t have to stay that way. And a lot of us, knowing we don’t have to stay that way, are starting to REFUSE to stay that way, and we demand our institutions do the same.
Smutpunk will be accommodated. We’re not your great-granny’s old timey ways, until we want to be. Smutpunk is whatever we want. It’s what the future requires of us to keep evolving. Technology will free us from old shackles and bind us to new ones before most of the world even realizes something is going on, but Smutpunks are ahead of the curve.
We need not accept any of this shit we’ve inherited, whether we escape it through means society approves of or not, whether we conquer it on our own terms, whether we just laugh and enjoy the ride. We are waking up to the future where our limits are truly only what we can imagine.
Smutpunks imagine. Big and small, macro and micro, revisions or truly immanent creations, we imagine.
That binary, black-and-white, A or B, On or Off mechanism of thinking has to die because of it. It has to. It’s going to. It’s as inevitable as the death of the publishing industry. It’s already dying. Authority said, “Ok, Society, it’s my way or the highway,” and a whole lot of us, smutpunks all, have answered.
“Fuck you, the highway’s just fine!” We won’t be censored. We won’t be condescended to.
We would prefer not to, to paraphrase Bartleby.
#Smutpunk. We would prefer not to.