Every asshole has an opinion. We’ve heard it time and again. However, one trait I like about it is that in its inverted form we may encounter what is perhaps likely: Every opinion has an asshole.
Nearly every person you encounter in this technocratic hell-hole of modernity displaces their living energies into some ideal, some abstraction, which they hold above themselves. They simply spew it, like an asshole, with every deed and word. They stink up every room they enter into with it. They are its bottom strata, its slave, its ass-end.
Forsaking one’s actually lived presence for that which is colorless, static, tasteless, shapeless–that is, unliving–is simply the ouroboric praise of an asshole for their own opinion.
And just so’s you know: reification will be a perennial topic ’round these parts.