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Hot, cold, hail, lava, boils or locusts—it never mattered: the machine masturbated and we had to take it or die.
Loud, up there, back there, all around us, he snickered. It snickered. Most of the time I thought of AM as it, without a soul; but the rest of the time I thought of it as him, in the masculine … the paternal … the patriarchal … for he is a jealous people. Him. It. God as Daddy the Deranged.
