I want to know everything then from the light on the hill. I want to know everything the strange bud has to tell. I make the magic ink of myself and he writes it down.
When there are no more walnuts or spittle, I will make the ink of metal, of blood, of semen, of feces. I will read what all of it has to say.
Nothing will escape my ghoulish generosity. I will give everything to rest in the security of new knowledge. I will die if I must, but I will be certain about something before it is finished. He will spell it out for me without prevarication, if the threat of death holds any sway. I’m uncertain. I don’t know how these mild confrontations work.
Give me the threat of death and I will be decisive. Perhaps man functions the same way. Do men think obedience greater than justice? I mean really, when it all boils down?
Survival is compromise. All things bend. These are ways of understanding through which I can express myself. I will bend the branches till they sing.
All things bend, bigfoot, magic ink, Survival is compromise, The Light on the HillAll things bend, bigfoot, magic ink, Survival is compromise, The Light on the Hill
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