I need the will to take a chance, the confidence to accelerate. I need the ability to perceive speed. The blinding speed of gods, the binding seeds of atoms. The speed of me is the very essence of this ghost. I live life as the pivotal trip switch of my own chaos. Tripping the electric fuse box of chaos. Is there a god in the manual of chaos? Read the manual. It’s manual labor. It’s all bloody hands and smiling eyes and a whiff of salt.
How did I get from will to salt? I need sleep.
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