I still find myself craving the approval of earth tone normalistic Whole Foods faux witchy white women, but I also realize that's enculturation meant to instill self-loathing in myself, not actual love. It's just grudgelust at this point, so I've learned to not try and act on it, and it makes me happier. It's not uncommon... most of us tend to sow our own failures, seeking the approval of those we already know don't want us. We're all pretty heavily steeped in wanting what doesn't make us feel fulfilled, those of us trapped in western culture, which is actually a lack of culture that channels your cultural hopes into consumption instead. You gotta buy an identity, and if you can't afford one, you feel like a piece of shit. And if you can't afford a new one now and then, whenever the old one loses its shine, you also feel like a piece of shit. Luckily I've realized my craving of normalistic witchy white women of a certain earth tone presence and that lavender mothball vaginal smell is a distraction meant to have me crash on the rocks of failure. It's the siren song of quirky conventional attractiveness, to feel like I've accomplished class transition and the granddaughters of the wizards who were slaveowners but "the good ones" have finally accepted me as worthy of their love. It took a long time to refine my love from that poisoned grudgelust though, and along the way, I'd mistakenly believe I was attracted to crazy women. But I'm not; I'm attracted to wild women, actual wild not pretend wild. I like fucking on picnic tables and watching an ass tattoo jiggle after I slap it. I also like to lay there together watching the little prisms on the windowsill make rainbows in the cobwebs at the corner of the ceiling, while softly rubbing your thighs and stomach. I'm a lover, and as a lover, lovin' only makes me stronger, in the heart muscle but that's a pretty dope muscle to be flexing and growing, without the aid of synthetics.
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