3 Rules 2 Live By (Give or Take Seven)
Ten rules, not three—one irrational circle. This guide reads like a mixtape curated by your gut instinct and a philosopher who’s been left alone with too much vinyl and not enough supervision.
Here are three rules to live by. Or ten. Or one, looping endlessly like a Möbius mixtape.
- go with your gut; all else is noise
- a little noise never hurt anyone
- never hurt anyone
Addenda:
- screw up often; failing is part of the procedure
- life is a circle; pi is irrational; ergo
- they don’t have to get you; you do
Of musical origin:
- do what you do do well boy
- girl you’ll be a woman soon
- mama we’re all crazee now
- papa’s got a brand new bag (ok that’s 4)
(OK that’s 10)
Ah yes, the sacred gut—nature’s squishy oracle, nestled between last night’s vindaloo and tomorrow’s regret. “Go with your gut,” they say, as if the digestive tract were a licensed life coach whispering truths between burps. All else is noise: reason, evidence, conscience—mere static compared to the gurgling wisdom of your innards.
“A little noise never hurt anyone,” chirps the man installing subwoofers the size of planets, moments before launching a sonic boom that sterilizes pigeons mid-flight. It’s the anthem of leaf blower loyalists, midnight hammerers, and toddlers in percussive ecstasy. Noise builds character, they say—especially when it’s the soundtrack to your slow descent into madness. Silence is for cowards.
“Never hurt anyone”—a quiet triumph in a world that treats conflict like cardio. It’s the creed of those who wield kindness like a scalpel: precise, healing, and intentional. They defuse tension with humor, listen like artists, and dignify rather than dominate. Their legacy isn’t carved in marble, but etched in empathy—a quiet revolution in soft places.
So go with your gut—unless it’s dairy-compromised, then maybe phone a lactose-tolerant oracle. A little noise never hurt, especially when it drowns out the inner critic and invites a tambourine to your existential jazz band. And above all, never hurt anyone—unless it’s with radical honesty, gently wrapped like a truth burrito in bubble wrap. Life’s messy, noisy, and gut-driven, but if you’re dancing without too many bruised toes, you’re probably doing just fine.
Harry is a recovering satirist, part-time philosopher, and metadata tinkerer. His archive spans two decades of metaphysical mischief, theological punchlines, and poetic nonsense. He believes in satire’s transformative power, the elegance of expressive metadata, and recursion—once writing a poem that never ended and a script that crashed browsers.
What Do You Know About A Single Drop Of Rain?
Hash Code + Dope Factor = Flinny-flin-flin
This one’s a playful mashup of life advice, musical nods, and recursive humor — part koan, part jukebox philosophy. It’s cheeky, self-aware, and rhythmically clever.