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Christián would be proud of me this *morning* as I have resisted the urge to stumble to the toilet and relieve my bowels. Great effort is required to achieve this feat. My mind battles the urges of my body. I am cleansed in my reverence for the spiritual. I have rounded the final bend of the river and can now clearly see the sea stretching blue against the horizon. From the peak, the remainder of my days are a pleasant, even enthralling downhill rush. When I am torn apart in the delta, in my transcendence, I shall not mind the dissolution of corporal being.
What I'd really like to say is that ghosting away physical discomfort is the *crest* of the *wave* of the immediate future. Like all waves, I see this particular one from my height, just seconds before the descent. Some rustle in memories of my youth slather a portrait of a tram at the apex of a roller-coaster. My youth was a waste, so I ignore it. This *wave* of the *immediate future* shall meet me at the delta.
The performance is simple:
It is my death coupled with the death of the future, of innovation, and of all healing through spirituality. Everyone is invited to the event. You'll be presented with a free pro-stagnation t-shirt upon entry to the fairgrounds. From the climax of the event, time shall cease to exist.
Embrace the blackness of the static. Dynamacism is gone.
Fuck um.
@flavigula@sonomu.club
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