Upon graduating I found myself more single-minded than I had been, as far back as I could remember. But something within me rebelled against the theory that had brought this single-minded condition. Not for it being untrue; but here we are with crashing apps and the theory I had injested is meaningless for a world based on microprocessors.
We can't unknow things, but we might find ourselves trying to be just a little more in two minds, like we used to be. But then I recall myself to a time when, do what I would, there was someone competing with me.
Sometimes it's better to let people win, because they'll be able to call you a friend and there's nothing you can do if they describe, for instance, a poster of dimensions that equal life.
I don't love ~ anybody else; when I think about you I touch myself.
On my bedroom wall I had a large poster of a supercar. I tended to look at all works of art involving realism in the light of whether the thing depicted was something I might hold, or get into, or if the artwork was something which I could only tell others to behold as representing that which is out of my reach.
The quoted lyrics would seem to have unlikely been turned out in the matter-of-fact sense; which requires us then to consider the possibility, if it is not merely an instance of poetic licence, of it having been intended ironically.
If we fold our hands together, we are, as a matter of fact, touching ourselves; if we fold our arms we might only be touching our clothing, but I don't know who to ask as to the rules of this game.
As we know, people who said they loved us, such as our aunties, would, when we were boys, insist that we kiss them. This memory provided us with a useful reference to our changing attitude towards the word kiss.
There are those incapable of appreciating satire. Intellectual jealousy is something which affects everyone equally. It can lead people to call things satire that are really just another justification for the same old, same old, rebel culture.