Where am I?

It would be foolish to posit that the sports car is merely an extension of the Hammer of Thor. Not because the sports car doesn't find its silhouette cast on the foggy mists of the mind by a dense bright speck of lust that shapes it into a rooster-tail plume, and not because the sports car's some sort of suitlike second one may put on to limn lust in a body — for it of course plays the first rôle when cast by the second in the part, and it is always thus cast, of course — but because the Hammer of Thor is itself just an organic symbol and vehicle for the exercise of a different lust, a want, a lack at the center of the self that needs filling. Flesh & brain wish to merge perception and reality to come close to the grace of oblivion because selves themselves have no real support against the sense that reality itself might not after all be just two seemingly eye-shaped cut-outs into a spacetime fence between oblivion and what seems to happen.