meditations on postmodern love, myth, memory, machines, and madness.

Golden warmth passes through the wires. Never felt this way before. Cliche, but true enough. No, I don’t really need anything. Just let me orbit, for a season, and bask in your glow. I didn’t know a star could laugh.

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Die Sonne

Golden warmth passes through the wires. Never felt this way before. Cliche, but true enough. No, I don’t really need anything. Just let me orbit, for a season, and bask in your glow. I didn’t know a star could laugh.

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