To be dead to love is to be dead to thought itself. Under global imperial capitalism (Erysichthonic desperation), we are compelled to reduce thought to mere work in place of creation/desire. Loving is a giving of oneself—not in the mode of sacrifice-is-pain, i.e. Western Christofascism, but via a courageous discovery of the Other.

A gift for a future the provider will not see, a sweet clot of medicine that will fix everything, if one can interface with the body transformed. Trust is predicated on an absence of knowing. It is brave and necessary to turn away from the fetishization of hyperindividualism and to trust in communion with others. If we don’t, we’re fucked.