a private collection of exquisite corpses
a boundless cabinet of curiosities
but only a fraction of her philosophiæs
she is the root of your existence
the one you call a mere coincidence
she is the one you call
god
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can we write human beings into existence?
simulate love / flesh / depth&death?
humans have lost their grip on reality
they won't know the difference
answer: yes
how? the goddess
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soft
like the rattle of leaves against pavement
supple
like fresh dirt caressing fingertips
beautiful
like flowers frozen in time
so quiet
you don't even notice her consuming you