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Hommage à Elias Canetti | Waschküchenmelancholie

Act of faith.
Whose faith? Mine? Yours?
The city breathes, a wet, neon exhalation.
It's easy to mistake a city for a god,
especially at night.
Easy to offer yourself up,
a sacrifice to its indifferent hunger.

But the city doesn't care. It just is.
It's not a god, it's a mirror.

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