My home is your home
so welcome to the terrordome
The present dilemma: so hyped on self. so hyped on genius. hyped on a creative process drive, on the cultures within me, carried and transmitted, contacted, built, blessed into me. Or on thinking like that in this time; this time as good as then, this interaction as real as that, and yet post-formative identities drift and wash away. Blood is thin, cheap, fleeting. Blood is nothing. But I seek it too. Object love needs blood. And somewhere they're like: "don't believe the hype!" And I'm like: "Believe!"
Object love needs that. Then subject, then spirit.
Living for the here and now in a dying present.
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