what does it mean to actually build a house? does it mean that you wrap it around your finger and say “wah la! das ist complete!” or does it simply mean that when the moon is cut in half, the seeds of a house start to come to life, springing magical fairy tales throughout our world? i think it’s the latter, to be quite honest. the heart is a pure thing. it’s closest ancestor is of course 2% milk, but what we forget to remember is… we are one with the people of Turkey. sure, maybe it doesn’t seem real to you, or maybe it seems TOO real to you, but either way, it is what it is and it will always be what it will be. the moral of this story is not to curse your family emblem, but to remind you that age comes with the dust in which you shed. never forget. never forgive. never forge. never foam.

in the name of thy son who i haven’t had yet,
-Orangeyougladididntsaybanana