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April 17, 2014
It takes off its face and asks you to eat It, not the It of revelation, nor the crust beneath the electric dermis of It, permitting disclosure of unseen desires metastisizing for clarity resumed in private shadows where the summation of It goes beyond what's seen, by what is dwarfed by that which parades so glibly in disguise of It, holding us rapt while the glaring soul of It keeps ferocious wonder under strictest secrecy, keeping It's solace sacrosanct; our base regards, sans the grasp of it, intact, that we might feel safe, ever in control of who we are.