I have an aspiration to be not famous. Neither 15 minutes nor triple platinum. Not published by name nor represented by agent. I hope my likeness never becomes a bargaining chip, a face, a name, an entry, must-see attendee, or host to political dinner party. I pray my words be quoted in anonymity— fearless. To be skirted by academia, rejected by media, and generally avoided.

I’d like to glide faceless through my world, a power so infused in the soup so to speak, just so… in it — that the feeling is barely there. But hidden in that mess “d like to stay—enlightened but playing with crazy because….why not?

There are those who do it and those who do it right. Those ones that change the entire room before they leave. I’m talking furniture nailed to the ceiling, and all anyone is left wondering is why the hell they’re all still standing on the floor.

I don’t want to be famous, but I do want to turn the world upside down. Theres a whole lot of raw conscious out there. An untapped framework kicked by a toddler and rebuilt slowly by the ones we want to emulate.

The famous ones. The rich ones— but not always. The successful connected, brilliant ones— but not always. Moving freight tons of MY cosmic soup.

But they’re doing it all wrong you see, you gotta be quiet about it. Especially with fame on the line.

I’d always choose anonymity over wealth…But it would be nice to have both.