Part of me thinks we must. And this, I think, is accelerationism. To submit to the onward forward flowing push of history. God-flotsam God-jetsam. Carried by the on rushing surging tide.
And if we don't? What difference? Who will remember? Who will put a marker in the ground? That you resisted time itself? Forgotten. Rubbed out. Never happened.
And yeah of course I like this record You like that one. I prefer the beat which goes booga booga you like the one that goes clickety clack. We will talk about these things.
I am still squirming on the hook. I am. I am not ready to submit. When I am I will clock out like my dad, yeah nah sorry had enough seen all there is to see in this place moving on.
Would buckle you in two with a single glance. A pure wavelength of intensity. Absolute power. A good dad. A total cunt. Horrible and childish and impossible. Great dad. Loved him
.
I can't convey to you the intensity of his gaze. If you meet me in the flesh you will see a bit of it but mellowed, not as laser focus. A little more provisional. A little more compromised and broken.
My eyes are powerful it's a gaze it's the real thing but it's a generation later a generation further from the source. So that's me. Born 1979. Strange inheritance.
They are in your very breathing. They are the fear which makes you take such shallow breaths. They are the terror of clenching bladder clenching bowels.
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