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Turning the base to the noble has been our species pursuit from the beginning.
Turning the cheap to the dear, the worthless to gold, and the alphabet into a living wage seems to preoccupy more than a few here.
The literary belches of partially digested matter, arranged with care and every strained effort at insouciance fill the otherwise blankness of our screens. Like molecules whose greatest component is the space between the particles, like the meager offering at a gourmet restaurant sitting in a sea of white upon the plate's center, some have the temerity to ask for substance and meat.
Keep your dainties for your lovers, we are all cannibals here.
We daily prove there's a good living to be had in feeding off each other.
Somewhere, someone is sipping recycled piss and swamp water, rain and dew out of a crystal goblet.
Sometimes a wet belch, like a wet fart, leaves far more residue upon the speaker than desired.
Not: Do you feel me homey? But, do you smell me?