(classic rock riff)
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The pile of crude biomass you call your temple is just a complicated and fragile life support system for your genitals. By the time you are old enough to drink, it will have served its purpose, and all that remains is decay.
You’re a flesh automaton animated by neurotransmitters
Feelings: Dulled
… we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves
…here’s Tom with the weather.
It’s not a war on drugs, it’s a war on personal freedom, okay?
WHY IS EVERYONE WHISPERING HERE? SPEAK UP BROTHERS