ballard-bikers

January 17, 2025

Three bikers in metallized boots and Mad Max leathers sat at the outdoor tables. They formed a feral presence in the hypermodern complex, like carrion-birds on a skyscraper cornice, filling an unplanned niche in the ecology of the future.

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Thought:

“To be of the chosen despite the hungers and gnawings of flesh, to attain a spiritual union with Infinite, to die — how could physical pleasure toward which his blood cried, be compared with this?”

William Faulkner | “The Priest”

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