Keeps coming up.
I guess I’ve never identified with jealousy because I don't felt jealous about the things that a lot of people worry about.
For instance, that’s fine — you can fuck my man.
Because his dick is not mine — his soul is mine.
When I fall in love, I become a skull-fucker.
And I’m not jealous because I think there’s someone better for him.
It’s usually when someone has too much power.
When their feet swell in their boots.
Ego is such a difficult obstacle in the game of truthful conversation.
I can share your dick. But don’t get too big for your boots.
Because I am not in a race with you.
But I can see that you are, my friend, in a race.
And perhaps you’ll run ahead and pass too many check points for you to still consider me worthy, for I am not in the race.
I climb my own ladder.
That’s what my Mum always told me — she said --
Keep your eye on your own ladder.
“But she’s got (blank)”
Just keep your eye on your own ladder.
“But he’s the son of (blank) and was basically born with his foot in the door.”
Oh yeah? Keep your eye on your own ladder.