The art of articulation, the bloom of beatitude, the churning of characters…
Presents itself and is incorporated in my subjectivity.
The destructive demagoguery, the empty energies, the fragile feelings…
Flee from me. My disease is nothing more than alienating anonymity.
The glorious gods, the Homeric heroines, the isolated iconoclasts…
Line the expanse of my consciousness; a reckoning in perpetual motion.
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