a trash can for the refuse of the conscious mind
"The voice of protest is the voice of another and an ancient civilization which seems to have bred in us the instinct to enjoy and fight rather than to suffer and understand."
Once uopn a time there were two brothers. Then there was only one: myself. I grew up fast, before learning to drive, even. There was I: a stinking adult. I thought of developing interests someone might take an interest in. No soap.
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