Can’t Touch This
If you could switch lives with a famous person for a week, who would it be and why?
Nope to fame envy.
Can’t touch this life, you sneaky devil!
Mindhands off!
We are not duped. We’re aware “fame” is not a happiness ingredient.
A tight covetous squeeze seems fun like Halloween, but it’s just a normalized bate and switch tactic we ain’t falling for again.
Now we get invited to imagine someone else’s life is superior? To imagine there’s a short-cut past the real you? What a candy lure. We don’t want your candy. We have our own. No thank you.
If our purpose requires fame, fame is then an additional situation to manage-not a perk.
Life provides all the access required to offer our exsact gifts. Why would we want someone else’s smelly gifts? Their kids? Their lover? Eeew to wearing not-my-clothes. Nothing me. Me, not seen. Performing belonging. Talk about a way to diminish and subvert and subdue with consent.
No.
We have our own. If we don’t see clearly enough to like our own deets better, no matter what stage of development we are in, and relish our moments that make us ourselves and proud- that’s the vital delight famous candy is coming for-to molest.
Enjoy you, glorious yourself in your own life.
Your fledgling life must be worth stealing or nothing would be coming after it with fake fame fishing lures like plastic insects with a sharp barb. If you don’t relish you yet, your duty is to move toward relishing you not toward relishing fitting in to a life that’s not already yours- a lifetime gift for you to enjoy.
Don’t consent to mind-screw. Your joy is too valuable and it’s exclusively yours. Nothing else can access it. Just thwart it. You don’t have to consent to feeling like another, any fucking other life is superior to the perfect whole and complete one you are always in possession of. You got the power. You’re sovereign.
Look at yours. Don’t look away. Notice.

The road to nowhere…when it’s not your own.































































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