Guess at me, guess at me because it’s cold, losing the lobster’s casings is cold. Warm me up with your guesses about me, understand me because I am not understanding me. I am only loving the roach. And it’s a hellish love. But you’re afraid, I know you were always afraid of the ritual. But when one has been tortured to the point of becoming a nucleus, then one starts demonically wanting to serve the ritual, even if the ritual means consuming oneself — just as in order to have the incense the only way to get it is to burn the incense. Listen, because I’m as serious as a roach that has cilia.
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