The Wax Conspiracy

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Cooler heads did not prevail. Such as it ever was in the apothecaries of the mind where paranoias are mixed and spliced and desublimated, ready to be chopped and bagged for distribution.

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No accounting for the dysania. It isn’t depression or anxiety, little salmon-coloured cuboids can attest to that. And it isn’t the coffee either, so you can just fcking drop it because I don’t have a problem except for you, MUMs.

Problem is, we’re all locked-in. The network effect ran unchecked, and the tide is rolling back to the event horizon. Sucks.

You are a call & the ghost of a magnet. Face away the day with a metal mask and metal fingers that keep others at bay. It’s time to have this matter settled so I can go back to cutting my hands on blue bottles of gin.

Coffee shakes. Don’t get too close, just give man a sieve and let him get to work. This is how I operate, built to spill.

Belvedere Jehosophat

Written on Saturday, 11 January 2014

The Wax Conspiracy

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