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Le Strip d'Escalier

I remember back when Gabriel's most tender realms tried to manifest themselves here, in The World. I didn't see him for a while. I do often think about the first part there, where his shit was trying to get out, but he didn't know what was happening. That seems quite unpleasant. And this was immediately after having the flu, then having food poisoning. My own form, lumpen and greased with sebum though it may be, doesn't do that. It punched in like forty years ago and just does its business. My suspicion is that all the bills - for my wickedness, for my sloth, and for an pronounced "Wastrel Era" - will all just come due at once.


Because I was getting wild, looking up the latest world ending apocalypses on Twitch for the last post, now my phone thinks I give a shit that this incomprehensibly rich motherfucker doesn't like some other incomprehensibly rich motherfucker. When you watch Twitch, you're watching the cameras installed at some kind of psychotic daycare. You see videos sometimes where streamers are trying to finally manufacture some kind of work-life balance at incredible personal cost, and the only thing that distinguishes them from traditional hostage videos is the nice camera. It doesn't seem like a nice place or even a good job.

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