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every time i write i feel my innards recreate the body-without-organs chapter of Anti-Oedipus

"Every coupling of machines, every production of a machine, every sound of a machine running, becomes unbearable to the body without organs. Beneath its organs it senses there are larvae and loathsome worms, and a God at work messing it all up or strangling it by organizing it."

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Merely so many nails piercing the flesh, so many forms of torture...

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A small congregation of exiles.