Four walls of plaster, four walls of flesh,

framework of wood, framework of bone; all the great battles of history were fought right here within these walls. These are the wars to end all wars, fights to the finish, struggles unto death all laid bare to the mind’s eye, the mind’s penis a hapless foot-soldier supplying raw material to the front lines of this war between competing moral equivalent proxies—life, death, fear, hope. The battle of the bulge never really ends. World War III never really begins, Trojan horses promenading in all directions.

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