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At a certain point profusion became the too-much that would kill us. All of it implicitly understood, the ever multiplying stuf as asphyxiant. A curse on humanity, to find our abundance become poison. To our atmosphere, biosphere, markets, all being choked by bubbles of plenty. The sorcerer's apprentice, we can't stop the inflation, the machine of capital, production, its terrible prosperity, a merry wealth to be our death.
