The noble Bus is a mode of transportation befitting the descendants of hunter-gatherers. Bus is a sort of urban beast that must be tracked, pursued, and taken, by force if necessary. It brooks no cowardice; by its own fortitude it engenders nobility in its hunters. Driving is faster, granted— but cold, solipsistic, enervating of body and spirit. The car is an apparatus of regression; the driver cocooned in womb-like solitude meets no hardship, no test of his mettle, and reacts to all discomfiture with the dyspeptic grumbling of an opium-eater prodded from his stupor. To travel and arrive by Bus requires resourcefulness, grit, alacrity, patience, and guile. The Bus-rider laughs at adversity and looks upon his fellow-passengers as brothers. What though the road construction waylay him? What though the rain wet his shoes? Shoes— pah! What cares he for such baubles? Not for him the base ignominy of "road-rage" hang on my stop's coming up I gotta finish this post
hot take apparently but i think it's good for white people to relate to poc's art. i think it's good for straight people to relate to queer art. stop acting like we're different species who could never possibly understand each other what the fuck is wrong with you