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I need no drugs.
Rainforest-dwelling men come miles across continents to touch their arrows to my skin; pharmacologists traverse the icy wastes to beg for samples of my blood, and shamanic spirits call me with their lovelife problems. The GPS system is orientated on the direction of my thoughts, and my heart sets time more accurately than a nuclear clock. There was a brief discussion of using my intimate parts as a calibration system to replace the metric scale, but even the French had second thoughts on the grounds of public morality.
I own cats which may or may not have been gassed, and feeding them puts my credit cards into a curious state of fiscal uncertainty, the precise permutations of which govern the ebb and flow of the global economy.
Occasionally, I sing. Although the tones produced are too pure for prevailing human aesthetics, bats and whales are complimentary, and a noted Chinese psycholinguistic historian has suggested my tonal compositions could form the basis of a new understanding of the deep structures of language.
I need no drugs. My every step is the Dao. |
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