Visceral Realists Society

Visceral Realists Society is home for the annotations of a conflicted mind, charmed and delighted by all that is beautiful. I claim no ownership - unless stated otherwise - of photographs posted here.

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I love it how when I hover over my email address in gmail, it say (you) next to my email address. you know you are stuck in existential ambiguity when gmail is like ‘you are logged-in to gmail therefore you are.’

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At the pub last night, meeting three people - two guys and a girl. Guy one introducing the other two:

  • Guy one: “This is Michael” he says, pointing at the guy who does one of those gushing with teeth Mormon smiles, “and this is Claire, my girlfriend”, he points towards the girl.
  • Me: "Your girlfriend?" I ask, taking a lung full of smoke, and looking at her as if to appraise an art-work at a museum, “It is as if her entire identity, her sense of autonomy and self-determination is reduced to a cliche bracelet of your patriarchy. How fucking dull.”
  • The teeth man (after a self-imposed pause): hey man, so you have a wicked beard.
  • The girl: (looks weary, tries to untangle an imaginary knot from her hair).
  • Guy one, looking at the teeth man: ya’ll wanna grab a drink.
  • Me: another lung full of smoke.
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