What if, after all,
your subconscious,
your dark river to Hades,
was a rock?
A solid, single-family, 4 bed, suburban ranch house built in 1962?
The embodied sensation of satedness brought about by
two helpings of mashed potato?
The illuminate cave,
twinkling,
mysterious,
within the boughs of the real Christmas tree in your parents' living room?
Would you be disappointed?
Sounds like the collective consciousness of white America.
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