“If nihilism means life beyond the ideological workerism that builds walls and compounds of safety then I dance and sing as a nihilist to the rhythm of every tsunami that creates art with wreckage. My only tragedy is the moments of life I surrendered to the belief that I was broken, disordered, and disabled. But the death of those moments now resting in pieces gives life to a new discovery of myself, to feral expressions that overwhelm every levy of emotional control, like clandestine flora breaking through asphalt. With gun powder affection and the courage that initiates a first kiss, I find self-love in collapsing those ivory towers of decorum; my melancholy and rage might be profitable targets for control and regulation by the dealers of chemical dependencies and escapes, but they are me! They are elements integral to my existence - informed responses to my surroundings. And even if I find them difficulty at times, I embrace their existence as much as I embrace myself. And while I find even myself difficult at times, I am not a fucking science project for chemical escapism; I remain an embodiment of insubordination, the fluidity of unbridled emotions, the nihilist poetry of a tsunami in flux. I do not sympathize with conforming to behavioral servitude in order to preserve the general peace of subordinating civility! Rather than pacify my outrage or silence my despair, I have put all of society’s shame-on-mes and peer pressures to rest in coffins lined up for a bonfire in my head. And during their incineration, I will look up to the stars with a smile of admiration, for they are a dazzling beauty beyond the reach of civilized governance. For better or worse, I am me, the complete I, a storm living and breathing until I become one with the dirt and the infinite sky.”
— Flower Bomb - On Self Love and Gun Powder