I will let Bowie do the honors:
Your country’s new, your friends are new
Your house and even your eyes are new
Your maid is new and your accent, too
But your fear is as old as the world
So what if I was afraid of going away and leaving closed (or, even worse, open) doors behind?
And what if I had the Stockholm Syndrome, that emotional illness that makes it all fuzzy and warm around your destroyer?
What if I got tamed by the circumstances? What if I got average and fine with it?
First you have to bow so later on you can conquer.
And so I did.
There is a color named “cosmic latte” and nothing else matters.
There is Julio Cortazar and intellectual orgy. There is Francesca Belmonte and #TheEndofAnEra in Mad Men, which was majestic in its insanity.
And above every single thing on my list, there is the second part of this post.
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