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or I could let myself be captured by the magic flute of satyrs who would gently lure me to entrapment to drink my blood for one more day of life. it could be conveyed how little I give a damn about tomorrow, the length of my trousers, the circumcision I didn't agree to, the daily shave, the score, the mythology. Would they be shocked to discover contempt clinging to my cells like algae. Religious fervour. Moral pandemonium. The unexpected lurks near the hours you thought private. What will you accept in exchange for your silence? What life do you want for one more day? let's die here, a soldier's death, the death of tulips -- and spring. If blood and flesh will win us a new world that is not a token or a statue covered in pigeon shit. |
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About Standards |
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