I don’t know saints. I know men and women. I know we do a lot of damage.
We should do the least possible.
I love doing a mess, as long as I have to pay for it and not others.
Dionysian mess. Electronic music of the mind brought to extreme consequences, barely real frontiers, the fury of bodies in a love crash, vital and friendly agonism, thrill. No fear of alterational states of our conscience or of our pain.
But I must not harm others
That’s my limit.
Never give the fault to someone else for our own mistakes
Never say “yeah but you too. . .”
Any mess we do we have to pay.
That is also the reason I have no brakes: it forces me to be completely concentrated on myself and on not doing harm.
No abs, no airbags, no steel skin to protect me.
I have to watch out