Come then. Leave your war awhile, paper or iron war, petrol or flesh, come in with your love, your fear of losing, your exhaustion with it. All day it’s been at you, coercing, jiving, claiming your belief in so much that isn’t true. Is that who you are, that vaguelly criminal face on your ID card, its soul snatched by the government camera as the guillotine shutter fell or maybe just left behind with your heart, at the stage Door Canteen, where they’re counting the nights take…
Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow
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